


From each according to their abilities, to each according to their need

by elarielf



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bad Fathers are a universal constant, Betrayal, Gen, Iron Man/Thor AU, Minor character pseudo-death, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elarielf/pseuds/elarielf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor, crown prince of Asgard, is cast out of his homeworld by his father Odin for his arrogance and sent to Earth alongside his brother Tony to live among humans. Both Thor and Tony learn some much-needed lessons and truths, and their new-found strengths come into play as a villain from another Realm threatens the Earth.</p><p>Meanwhile, Loki, ruler of Jötunheim, is captured on his way to Asgard, imprisoned and tortured, forced to develop magical weapons for his captor. Instead, he escapes with the help of another captive only to be betrayed anew by the person he trusted the most. Their battle takes them to Earth, where their paths cross with Tony and Thor's, and the fate of the Nine Realms hang in the balance.</p><p>Or, why Loki makes a better Tony than Tony does, and why Tony would make a better Loki than Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**_Once, mankind accepted a simple truth: that they were not alone in this universe. Some worlds man believed home to their gods. Others they believed they should fear.  
_ **

**_From a land of cold and darkness came the Frost Giants, searching for comfort and alliance in a land they thought would welcome then. But humanity does not react well to that which they do not understand, to that which seems different and frightening. Their armies drove most of the Frost Giants away from their peaceful villages and back into the heart of their own world. What few remained would surely have been hunted down and killed, were it not for the intervention of Asgard._ **

**_The cost was great._ **

**_The humans have always been more numerous than any people of any other Realm, and they used their numbers to great advantage. In the end, however, we prevailed and the source of their power was taken from the humans, cutting them off from the other Eight Realms and leaving them with only their innovative minds to fill in the gaping hole which once contained their own magic. With the last great war ended, we withdrew from the other worlds and returned home at the Realm Eternal, Asgard._ **

**_And here we remain as the beacon of hope, shining out across the stars. And though we have fallen into man's myths and legends, it was Asgard and its warriors that brought peace to the universe._ **

Tony frowned, his agile mind going over scenario after scenario. “But they can’t come to Asgard, can they? The humans, I mean.”

“When I am king,” Thor declared, grinning over at his little brother, “I'll hunt the villains down and slay them all! Just as you did, Father.”

Odin shook his head. “The Midgardians are not to be considered enemies any longer. As the shortest-lived and least powerful people under Yggdrasil, they have forgotten everything about the magic they used to wield, about their place amongst the Nine Realms. They are to be pitied, my sons; limited to a single Realm, forced to rely on inert technology for the simplest of tasks where we have been blessed with long lives and strength beyond their wildest dreams.”

Tony snorted. Thor looked scandalized, that his brother would act so rudely before their father, but Odin just gestured for Tony to speak. “They might not be us, but they’ve lasted more generations since the invasion than Asgard _ever_ has. I’m sorry, father, but I agree with Thor. It might be better to just finish them off if they’re so blind and short-sighted, before they find a way back to us.”

Odin smiled indulgently. “A wise king never seeks out war, but…” he looked between his two sons, as they hung on his every word, “he must always be ready for it.”

It was troubling that Thor’s immediate reaction was a bloodthirsty one, but it was equally troubling that Tony was already so coldly practical that he could argue for the extermination of an entire race in the name of expediency. Odin hadn’t been back to Midgard since the Jötunn genocide, but he remembered the fervent drive with which the human leaders had rallied their followers against the Frost Giants, calling them monsters and demons to justify their cruelty. Laufey’s infant son and heir had nearly been killed, saved only by his instinctive ability to shapeshift into a form more pleasing to human eyes and Odin’s sharp magical senses, almost leading to a full out war between Midgard and Jötunheim. It could have been far more disastrous than it was, and had been more than bad enough to give Odin nightmares to this day.

Which was why he told his sons about it. To prepare them for the worst that could happen if either of them took up the mantle of rule.

Thor’s hand slipped into Odin’s, breaking him out of his sombre reverie. “I’m ready father!”

“So am I!” Tony snapped quickly, never one to stay in his elder brother’s shadow for long.

Odin chuckled, pleased at their desire to please him. “Only one of you can ascend to the throne. But both of you were born to be kings.”

Thor took that with the wide-eyed trust with which he accepted everything his father told him. Tony frowned and seemed to file it away to mull over it later. Odin wasn’t worried; neither of his sons were the type to ruminate over things they couldn’t change. Thor would likely forget this conversation even happened, and Tony would likely only remember it when its significance became relevant. Odin was a sporting kind of man, and firmly believed that an intellect like Tony’s deserved all the clues and warnings and foreshadowings that Odin could offer him. Frigga had commented at how he toyed with his youngest son like he played with the greatest minds of Asgard, but Odin firmly believed that Tony deserved to be counted among that group, even at his young age.

Tony was precocious now, but when he aged he would become a great scholar, and Odin looked forward to having someone other than his wife who could keep up with him.

He had great plans for Tony Odinson. Great plans indeed.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

**_Loki Laufeyjarson. Visionary. Genius. The saviour of Jötunheim. Even from an early age, Loki-king shone, despite his unfortunate stature, with the light of his brilliance and unique power. Saved from the Midgardian barbarians by the Allfather himself, Loki-king crafted his first complete protection spell at an age when most children were still learning to speak; he grasped the fundamentals of teleportation while his cohort were learning to run. Just before he reached full adulthood, he became the first of our people to be welcomed by the Vanir and Asgardians, taking on their appearance to charm them into accepting him into their courts. As her prince, he raised Jötunheim’s standing amongst the Nine Realms._ **

**_The loss of Laufey-king came far too soon, and Loki-king was not in a position to grasp the throne which was his birthright. After thoughtful and reasoned debate, the throne went to Skrymir-king instead, who ruled with an admirable practicality and effectiveness. It wasn’t until Loki-king finished his trials of adulthood that he was able to take up the Casket of Ancient Winters and take back the throne which had been his by right of birth. Under his reign, Jötunheim has become more prosperous than ever, and a powerful force for good throughout the Nine Realms._ **

The roar of approval echoed in the halls of Útgard, and the skald made a small bow to his audience, and a deeper one to Loki, before taking his seat.

Loki sighed. He would rather be anywhere than here, celebrating the day of his birth. At least he’d had the foresight to choose his own skald, a young scholar whose talents ran more towards brevity and powerful overstatement than long, drawn-out purple prose. His entire life had just been summed up in less time than it took to serve the soup course, diplomatically omitting Laufey’s neglect and disdain, Farbauti’s benign indifference, and the fact that he’d had to depose one of the few Jötunn he’d admired and who had always had faith in him.

None of that was for public consumption in any case. Loki was certain that if Laufey had ever managed a second heir, Loki would have ended up the victim of some tragic accident. As it was, he was half-certain that Laufey had maliciously orchestrated his early death, and Farbauti’s, to make it as difficult as possible for Loki to ascend the throne.

Not that it would have been easy in any case. A runt and a magic-user, Loki was hardly anyone’s first choice for king. He would have made a wonderful advisor, a brilliant ambassador, a fantastic councillor, but king? That was a role for warriors, for the large, imposing nobles who made up Loki’s inner circle. For Skrymir.

It was a good thing that Skrymir hadn’t thought that way. The moment Loki had proven himself, taking Jötunheim’s heart and power as his own, Skrymir had stepped aside with a smile and a careful embrace. Loki was grateful for him, and would likely be eternally indebted to him.

Which was why he was here tonight, when he’d rather be reading or researching or even hearing the complaints of his people or the ambassadors from the other Realms. As enjoyable as feasts were, he couldn’t shake the idea that almost everyone here was present despite him, not because of him.

“Smile a little,” Skrymir suggested softly. “You’re still young, Loki. You needn’t put on the mask of the stoic just yet.”

Loki sighed. “Why should I? Would it comfort my people to believe that I take pleasure in this pointless display? Would it attract a fine mate, any of whom I could have by virtue of my station whether they appreciated a stoic façade or a cheersome smile? Would it satisfy the young skald that I approved of his blessedly short tribute?”

“It would satisfy me, my king,” Skrymir said, his tone rumbling with good humour. “For I am old, and easily placated by the cleverness of your quick mind.”

“There is nothing and no one as difficult to placate as you, my friend,” Loki retorted. But he found, to his horror, that he _was_ smiling.

Skrymir smiled back. “And yet here I am, utterly and completely satisfied with nothing but a smile from my king.”

“Loki-king.” Loki’s attention returned to the center of the room, where Angrboda was setting up a dance for his entertainment. “With your permission.”

Loki waved her on and she bowed with admirable grace and depth. Loki gave himself a moment to admire her; she was handsome and lithe for a Frost Giant, and only half again as tall as Loki himself. What made her even more attractive was her quick and agile mind, and her willingness to use her wit to entertain Loki when he was in a foul mood. She was one of the few subjects who willingly, even eagerly, aided Loki in his magic without demanding an equal voice in his council.

He would have taken her to his bed ages ago, made her an official consort, were it not for the fact that he was the first king of Jötunheim who could conceivably form an alliance through marriage with one of the other Realms. As long as he entertained the prospect of a Vanir or even Asgardian political marriage, the only position he could offer Angrboda was bed-warmer.

And she deserved better.

A pall of gloom fell over Loki as Angrboda and several other maidens danced for his entertainment. Skrymir made a deep sound of concerned warning, but Loki’s thoughts had turned inexorably to the prison of his position and the heavy responsibilities and duties that weighed on his shoulders. The celebration of his birth usually affected him thus, bringing up old resentments and current regrets, and Loki wanted nothing more than to be free of them.

He watched the dancers for a few more moments, waiting for his dark mood to pass, and then stood when it didn’t, gesturing to one of the dancers at random who came to her king’s side.

Tomorrow, he would return to his duties and responsibilities and ensure the best for his people. Tonight, he just wanted to forget about all that.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

As the decades and centuries passed, Asgard and Jötunheim prospered and Midgard grew by tremendous leaps and bounds, emerging from the dark age triggered by the loss of magic from that Realm and into a renaissance and rebirth, perfecting and manipulating tools and machines into more and more complicated devices that could soon do the work of ten, twenty, even a hundred men. They relied more and more on their technology, to the point that their planet glowed with the artificial lights that brightened their night, even through the dense smog that was the byproduct of their avaricious desire for new and more innovative tools.

Heimdall watched over them, reporting the more significant discoveries to his king. Steam-powered transportation, electricity, flying machines, nuclear weapons, space exploration, computers… anything that brought the Midgardians closer to the other Eight Realms and increased their ability to destroy once they arrived there was forwarded to Asgard’s king and shared judiciously with the rulers of the other Realms.

As Thor grew, he remained convinced that the best defence was a strong offence, and advocated loudly for excursions to Midgard to remind them of their place. Tony, who would never surpass his elder brother in stature but who loomed head and shoulders over him in maturity, suggested learning from the humans, making their strengths Asgard’s. The unchanging Realm was clearly stifling to the creative young god and he chaffed at the limitations forced on him by the warrior society that raised him.

Odin listened to neither son, and continued to maintain Asgard’s lofty distance from Midgard’s problems, despite turning a blind eye to the occasional forays of the more adventurous youths. When Tony and Thor turned to the leaders of the other Realms, they found that most of them were stuffy old men who followed the Allfather in all of his edicts unless they directly opposed their own self-interest. Midgard, isolated from the other Realms and still obviously inferior (if gradually less and less so) to them, was not nearly pressing enough to risk dropping in the Allfather’s esteem.

The only ear that seemed receptive to them was Loki-king’s. Of an age with Tony and Thor, he was too young to remember the Midgard Wars, having been born just before they ended. He agreed that the Midgardins were slowly becoming more of a threat, but advocated patience and research before making any moves that could be met with disapproval. Tony agreed with the research part, and Thor was just glad to have someone who could, conceivably, enable him to pursue his glorious quest to cow the Midgardians. Besides, Loki-king indulged him in his craving for adventure whenever they visited Jötunheim, never even once making mockery of Thor when he returned from a poorly thought-out quest injured and bloody and empty-handed. Tony said that was only because Loki-king knew his ventures were doomed to failure and enjoyed humbling the God of Thunder, but Thor thought he was just jealous since Loki-king admired Thor’s bravery and valour outright while only complimenting Tony’s intelligence in private.

Politics aside, the three royals spent a great deal of time together, finding refuge away from the older rulers and ambassadors. Tony and Thor had known Loki as a prince before he was crowned king, and the new title and responsibilities didn’t change the fact that they shared memories of Loki’s magic turning the washing water bright green and staining the faces of half the delegation from Alfheim or Tony’s intricate traps that made hunting simpler and far safer or Thor’s drunken confessions as they helped him to his room.

They each had their own groups of close friends – Thor had Sif and the Warriors Three, Tony had Sigyn and a group of like-minded scholars, and Loki had his advisors and a few Jötunn magic users like himself. But there was something about being princes, kings-in-waiting, that had drawn them together. Loki seemed to find Thor amusing, Tony and Loki enjoyed their verbal spars, and Thor regarded them both with the benign condescension of Asgard’s crown prince, even after Loki took Jötunheim’s throne.

As Thor grew stronger and Loki’s magic grew more powerful, Tony started designing tools based on Midgard’s technology to keep up. What started as more intricate distance weapons such as slings and arrows turned into firearms and blowtorches, which then turned into an elaborate full suit of armour, powered by some of the magical trinkets given to the youngest prince as gifts, full of weapons and tools, even able to fly after a few hard months of work after Thor managed to fly with Mjölnir. He was taunted for the first little while for using cowardly Midgardian tools rather than working on increasing his strength and skills, but the sheer destruction he could cause and the way he and Thor learned to work together to get the most out of his invention soon won over most of his detractors.

Still, he was covered from head to toe in protective armour, and the suit required a very conservative haircut, which made him stand out from his fellow Asgardians, with their flowing locks and beards. But he would have stood out in any case, unable to bulk up enough to match the broad shoulders of the average Asgardian warrior, and not even close to managing their height. In that, he shared something of Loki’s resentment for everyone who stood so easily over him.

The one thing Tony refused to do, however, was stand in anyone’s shadow. He made a name for himself separate from Thor’s, separate from Odin’s, and carved a niche all his own. He never backed down, standing firm and as tall as possible against physical and verbal opponents, only relenting when either he or his opponent was found to be in the right or in the wrong. There was nothing subtle about him, nothing retiring or timid, and all of Asgard had to learn to either accept him or face the exhausting task of dealing with him.

It helped that Odin found it all amusing rather than embarrassing.

Loki, Tony, and Thor found their places and grew comfortable in them. Their kingdoms grew powerful and secure, and their people took comfort in the fact that their future rulers would be as strong and wise and courageous as their present ones. The future seemed to be as perfect as any future could be.

And then everything changed on the fateful night Thor was to be anointed as Asgard’s official heir.


	2. Displacement

Loki eyed his Vanir form critically. The curly blond hair and bright blue eyes were cheerfully attractive enough, but nothing that would stand out from the crowd in Asgard. He maintained his height, slightly tall for an Asgardian if nothing remarkable, but his lean figure made him even less noticeable. He set his jaw and shifted again, taking on his Asgardian form with its longer black hair and vibrant green eyes. That was better; still slim but more striking within the context of the generally blond and red-haired people.  
  
He stabilized his form, immediately fumbling for his cloak as the odd feeling of being ‘cold’ crept over him. Normally, when he visited the Realm Eternal, he cast a few protective glamours over himself and walked into Asgard in his own native form, used to the stares that ranged from curious to suspicious to outright admiring he received. But this wasn’t a normal visit. He was coming to see one of his best friends be anointed by the Allfather, and to cement his alliance with the next generation of rulers in Asgard. This wasn’t an official state visit – there was no formal coronation, no staid and scripted ceremony – it was more of an intimate family event, a father passing on his faith to his eldest son.  
  
Granted, a ‘family event’ attended by a small city’s worth of subjects and emissaries. But the point was, this wasn’t official and didn’t require the King of Jötunheim’s presence, even if Loki Laufeyjarson was invited. He would be there as a friend, and not to take any of the attention away from Thor on this momentous day with his ‘exotic’ appearance.  
  
Besides, it was more comfortable visiting the warmer Realms in the pink skin of the Vanir or Asgardians. The cost of shivering uncontrollably until he left Jötunheim was a small one to pay in return for keeping his head clear and his stomach from the nausea caused by hours of being overheated. Charms and glamours could only manage so much, and Loki associated Asgard strongly with headaches and queasiness, and not only due to Thor’s simpleminded brashness and Tony’s sharp tongue. Shifting shape was a concession to Loki’s comfort, as much as it was a politeness, and reduced the need for active magic while among the glittering throng of the Golden Realm. Loki valued subtlety, and appreciated that the fewer active spells, the better.  
  
He couldn’t, however, shake the necessity of an honour guard. When Loki had been a prince, he’d gone everywhere on his own, or with a few loyal retainers and friends. Now that he was king, at least five guards were required at all time, even when visiting a friendly Realm on a casual social visit.  
  
And visiting an unfriendly Realm was out of the question.  
  
Loki sighed as he finished dressing in the cloying layers of cloth that covered every inch of his body from his throat to his feet, save his hands. He might be unarmed, but as long as his hands were free and his magic was available, he wasn’t defenceless. To aid in that, he slipped on the passive charms and protective pendants he and Angrboda had fashioned in their youth, while planning adventures together. It was a pity that he’d been forced into the position of ambassador before they’d managed to leave Jötunheim on any of those adventures, and crowned king just after becoming a full adult and able to exert his own will on his own life.  
  
Adventures were for others; for Angrboda, for Thor, for Thrym, for Tony. Loki would remain on Jötunheim except for short, safe excursions and would continue to work towards the security and prosperity of his people.  
  
He sighed again and picked up the small gift he’d picked out for Thor. While Loki had access to all the power and wealth of Jötunheim, he’d earned this present the hard way – trapping the rare animals required in its construction himself and bartering his skills in charming and cursing items in return for its construction. The workmanship was exquisite, far surpassing anything Loki could have done on his own.  
  
Not that he’d ever admit to that.  
  
The gift was unique, much like Loki’s first gift to Odin of Sleipnir, but that was the extent of its value. It wasn’t useful in combat or in courting, the only two things Thor spent time and effort on, and neither was it showy. It was carefully calculated to impress the people it needed to impress (Odin, Frigga, Freyr, Freya) without drawing undue attention to itself.  
  
Thor would have preferred the enchanted bracers Loki had set aside for him, but that sent the wrong political message. It was unfortunate that Thor had to pay the price for Jötunheim-Asgard relations, but that was all part of being the crown prince. He’d have to get used to it.  
  
“My king.”  
  
Loki looked up, already frowning at Thrym’s wry, determined expression. “No, you can’t come.”  
  
“Your safety is my responsibility, Loki-king,” Thrym reminded him. “It is expected that I should accompany you.”  
  
“Expected, perhaps. And were this any other visit, I might agree. But you and Thor have had a longstanding vendetta ever since you stole his hammer, and I’m not going to go out of my way to make him uncomfortable on the day the Allfather officially recognizes him as his heir.”  
  
Thrym snorted. “Were you younger and your parents still alive, I would take you over my knee for such obsequiousness to Asgard.”  
  
“I’m not, and they’re not,” Loki said. “And you are captain of my guard, not my arms tutor. And Asgard is in ascension right now. I would be a political fool to ignore that.”  
  
“As Laufey-king did?”  
  
Loki’s frown deepened. Whether he agreed with his father’s old arrogance or not (he did not), it wasn’t Thrym’s place to bring it up. “You go too far.”  
  
Thrym bowed. “My apologies.”  
  
“Accepted, of course,” Loki said gleefully. “Your punishment will be to meditate in the temple on your loyalties until… oh, five minutes after I leave.” He gave a faux-gasp. “Which means you’ll miss my departure! How tragic.”  
  
“Loki…”  
  
Loki waved Thrym away, grinning. “Go on. You heard your king.”  
  
Thrym shot him one last baleful look before bowing again and turning on his heel. Loki felt a moment’s regret; Thrym really did have his best interest at heart, and it wasn’t his fault Thor (and, vicariously, Tony) kept a grudge far longer than necessary. He should have kept a closer watch over Mjölnir in the first place.  
  
But what was royal privilege for, if not to skirt the overprotective care of his minders every once in a while. It was just on this short jaunt to Asgard, and then he’d be right back in Thrym’s tender care, delightfully resentful insouciance and all.  
  
It was really only nice getting a break from it because Loki knew it would be waiting for him when he returned.  
  
Until then, he still had the elite Jötunn guards Thrym had personally chosen for him, so it would be like having Thrym at his back by proxy, without the added bonus of irritating Thor and triggering Tony’s equally irritating overprotective instincts. But, once again, Loki’s own amusement took second place to proper, regal, behaviour.  
  
Or at least it would once he arrived. Until then… “Cheer up!” Loki approached his chosen guards with a wide smile and his arms open wide in an expansive gesture. “You look like you’re travelling to your doom. Where’s that indomitable spirit of Jötunheim?”  
  
“My king, we have been instructed quite… harshly regarding our duties.”  
  
“Thrym can be heavy handed. I’m sure he only meant to encourage your best. Which includes looking less like ice demons and more like invited guests. We go to celebrate, not mourn. Or intimidate.”  
  
One of the guards smiled, tentatively. “Can’t we do both, Loki-king?”  
  
Finally. Some spirit. “As long as you remain on your best behaviour and avoid accidentally seducing any of the lovely Asgardian women. Or men. Or livestock, come to that.”  
  
That got a more general laugh. Loki smiled at them, encouragingly, and some of the others became brave enough to speak up as well.  
  
“Are the other races fair game, then, Loki-king?”  
  
“Just don’t bring home a harem of foreigners or breed a brood of half-bloods. It’s hard enough entertaining them as guests, dealing with their complaints about the temperature on a continuous basis would be intolerable.”  
  
“Too true, my king,” one of the magic-users tasked with setting the mass transportation spell to Asgard agreed. “Politeness is a veneer that fades too quickly with the wee folk if you ask me.”  
  
There were a few more jokes about the relative sizes of Asgardians and Jötnar, even a few about the infamous flexibility (both physical and moral) of the various elven races and the insatiability of the Vanir, and everyone was ready to go, relaxed and looking forward to the festivities.  
  
The spell went off without a hitch, the familiar cool power of the Casket of Ancient Winters enveloping the small party, and Loki tightened his grip on Thor’s gift. He barely noticed the ebb and flow of the magic as he flew between worlds, taking a strangely convoluted route to get there. Loki wasn’t worried; he trusted his magic weavers and his companions and his thoughts weren’t on the trip, but rather on planning and plotting through his arrival on Asgard. Thor would doubtless be too busy before the ceremony to visit, but Tony might be free for some fun…  
  
A sudden strange warping drew Loki’s attention away from his musings, and he frowned, unused to such sensations during a simple transport spell. One of the guards, also sensitive to the magical abnormality turned to him, his lips parted in anticipation of a question or suggestion. Loki never knew what he’d intended to say, however, as the warping sensation came again, much stronger this time, and tore through the Jötunn guard, as well as two of the others. The remaining guards shouted out a useless warning and tried to move through the ether and tangible power that was supposed to have carried them to their destination, only to be torn to pieces as well.  
  
It happened so quickly that Loki barely had time to draw his own protective spells around him as the transport spell flickered and faltered. None of the guards had even had time to scream as they were ripped apart, their corpses disintegrating and leaving behind nothing, not even blood. As painful as it had looked, Loki thought frantically, at least it would be quick.  
  
Admittedly, that wasn’t much of a comfort as the transport spell failed completely, leaving Loki adrift in the void between worlds, with the strange magic still flaring up around him. He braced himself with everything he had, losing Thor’s present as he fought for something anything that would keep him from the same end his guards had suffered. The layers of innate magic and passive protection spells he carried with him were enough to protect him from the void itself, but another hit from the violent, powerful magic from before, and Loki wasn’t sure he could survive.  
  
A flash of light, a flare of pain, a rush of panic, and then blackness.  
  
Loki’s last thought before he lost consciousness was that he would find out, and soon, if this was something he could survive.  
  
Or not.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

Thor looked into the full-length mirror reflection of himself in full battle-gear, minus his helmet, and sighed.  
  
“Hey.” Tony poked his head in, disturbing Thor’s rare moment of introspection and contemplation. “Nervous?”  
  
“Nervous?” Thor laughed. “Me? Brother, I have never been nervous in my life.”  
  
As that was hardly a dismissal, Tony slipped into the room, closing the door behind himself. “Oh? Well, I have. Plenty of times. Like when father caught us in Iðunn’s orchard after harvest playing with the rotten apples. Or when Sigyn caught us with those twins from Álfheim. Or that time in Nornheim…”  
  
“There was no reason to be nervous in Nornheim. Was I not at your side? Did I not fight my way through a hundred warriors to pull us all out alive?”  
  
Tony inclined his head. “Under the cover of my smoke bombs, true.” Thor snorted and Tony flashed him a grin. “But this is different, isn’t it?”  
  
Thor’s expressive face darkened before he could hide it, and the grin he used to cover his expression was feeble at best. “It is better.”  
  
“By the nine mothers of Heimdall, why do you even bother lying?” Tony rolled his eyes, exasperated. “You’re horrible at it.”  
  
“I am not!”  
  
“Are you just going to fight me on everything?” Tony demanded. “Again? I came here to talk to you, before the ceremony.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
Tony took a deep breath. “Don’t go through with it.” Thor looked stunned. “We can change the ceremony to something more symbolic. Maybe a tribute to all the bildgesnipe you’ve slaughtered over the years. But don’t go through with this, Thor. It’s too soon, you’re not ready.”  
  
“How dare you…”  
  
“I’m your brother, that’s how!” Tony snapped. “There are a million and one reasons why this is a bad idea, and you know it as well as I do. You were pale when I popped my head in, Thor. Pale. You don’t do pale.”  
  
Thor turned to his brother, brandishing his hammer. “So what do you suggest, Tony? Should the throne go to you instead?”  
  
Tony shrugged. “Mother makes a decent regent, and she’s younger and more vital than father. Haven’t you noticed that there are fewer revolts, fewer attacks, fewer problems in general when mother reigns? Give her her due, the woman knows how to rule.”  
  
“Asgard cannot be led by a woman.”  
  
“I know. That would make too much sense. But keeping her as regent keeps the stability and order that everyone’s so keen on. The only reason everyone’s so eager for you to take the throne is that you’ve been presented to our people as a perfect hero, the perfect warrior, while all those who actually know you adore you and, most of them, kind of hope you’ll screw up enough that we can go to ‘glorious war’ once again.” Tony’s voice was laced with sarcasm.  
  
“Enough!” Thor pressed Mjölnir into Tony’s chest, a silent threat of unspeakable force. “What you speak borders on treason.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Tony shot back. “It’s not treason, it’s truth. You’re an amazing warrior, and the best brother anyone could ask for, but you’re not ready for kinghood. And I told father as much.”  
  
Thor nearly dropped his hammer in shock. “You did what?”  
  
“I told father,” Tony repeated, calmer. “All my concerns, everything. He agreed.”  
  
“He what!?”  
  
“He agreed. So did mother.”  
  
Now Thor did drop Mjölnir, the hammer making a dull, resonant thud as it hit Thor’s floor, leaving a likely permanent dent. “So you’ve all turned against me.”  
  
“Oh, stop being all dramatic, you big lug,” Tony said, reached out to clasp Thor’s shoulder, his hand greatly diminished by Thor’s massive bicep. “We love you. We all want what’s best for you. All in time.”  
  
“My time was supposed to be now.”  
  
Tony frowned and stepped back. “You were minutes away from a panic attack at the thought of letting us down. You’re arrogant, but not that arrogant. You’ll make a great king, Thor, one we’ll all feel honoured following. When you’re ready.”  
  
“I’m ready now!”  
  
Tony sighed. “Thor, I’ve looked forward to this day as long as you have. You’re my brother and my friend. Sometimes I’m envious, true, but I only had your best interests, and Asgard’s, at heart. And, frankly, I think as soon as you’ve thought it over rationally– pleaseputMjölnirdown.”  
  
Thor shoved Tony onto his back and placed his immovable hammer on his chest. “Thor!”  
  
“I will speak with father. Until then…” Thor glared down at his younger brother. “Take a load off.”  
  
Tony groaned. “One liners? Seriously? I’ve told you before that you can’t pull them off, Thor. Thor? Thor! I can’t feel my right lung. Thor!”  
  
The ceremony was in less than an hour. Thor was certain that Tony had been tasked with giving him the bad news that he wouldn’t be crowned, and just as certain that Tony had tried to cut it close enough to the ceremony to prevent… well, exactly what Thor was doing now. But if he couldn’t have his ceremony, Thor didn’t see why anyone else should get what they wanted.  
  
When he stormed into his parents’ room, his mother had just finished dressing his father, placing the stag helm on his head. Thor felt a frisson of fear, a holdover from his childhood fascination with his father’s strength, at the sight of his father in full warrior’s dress, but pushed it aside easily. “What is the meaning of this?”  
  
“So,” Odin said, sighing heavily. “Tony spoke with you.”  
  
“He said you were taking away my birthright, dishonouring me in front of our nation, our guests! He told me you’d found me wanting and unworthy!”  
  
“Oh, Thor.” Frigga gently patted Odin’s chest before turning to their son. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Tony was only thinking about you. And he’s right – you have the necessary confidence, the love of your people, and the goodness of heart to make a great king. But you also bear the impatience of youth and the arrogance of one who’s never known personal doubt, both of which you need to shed before you are fit to truly lead. We thought that with Tony by your side–”  
  
“A viper would be more welcome!” Thor interrupted.  
  
Odin glared. “Let your mother finish.”  
  
“…sorry.”  
  
Frigga smiled, all forgiveness. “But Tony pointed out that he was just as impulsive as you, in his own way, and the last person to hold you back. Although he can always be trusted to counteract your arrogance with his own.”  
  
“And yet his is the voice you listen to.”  
  
“His is the voice speaking reason,” Odin snapped. “We had misgivings from the beginning; that we were doing this too quickly, too soon, too precipitously. But we were able to talk ourselves into having faith in your strengths, and those of your brother. Tony reminded us that alongside your strengths are considerable weaknesses, and that pushing too fast and too hard can sometimes lead to breaking rather than bending.”  
  
“Then what need have you for me at all?” Thor demanded. “Give the throne to Tony, along with Mjölnir and all my titles, if he is such a perfect son.”  
  
Frigga sighed. “He is no more perfect than you, and no more ready to take on the throne of Asgard as her king. You are both still boys, still young with much yet left to learn. Tony is clever and you are brave, but you both lack wisdom and the ability to understand and accept the weaknesses of others. Earn that wisdom, and either of you will make a great king.”  
  
Thor looked at his mother, guardedly. “So… you’re not passing me over for Tony?”  
  
“The throne is still yours to earn, and yours to lose,” Odin assured him. “You haven’t been deemed wanting or unworthy. Should you fail, however, the throne will fall to Tony.”  
  
They all imagined that for a brief moment, before shaking the image off.  
  
“What are your plans?” Thor asked, far calmer this time.  
  
“To name you Asgard’s protector,” Odin said. “It’s an honourable title, normally ceremonial, and certainly worthy of the celebrations we’ve already planned. And then we have a surprise for you and your brother.”  
  
Thor managed a smile. “A surprise. Tony will love that.” His eyes widened. “Tony…”  
  
“What have you done?” Odin asked suspiciously, just as Frigga’s eyes narrowed and she demanded, “Thor, where’s Mjölnir?”  
  
Thor laughed nervously. “Well, now that everything’s been settled, I will leave to finish preparing for the ceremony.” As he spoke, he backed towards the door, only his natural grace preventing him from tripping over his red cloak. “I will see you both soon…” He ducked out the door and raced through the palace hallways, skidding around corners until he arrived at his chambers, busting through the door and yanking Mjölnir off Tony’s chest.  
  
“Brother? Are you well?”  
  
“Just peachy,” Tony said, in between heaving breaths and hacking coughs. “Did you forget again what a delicate flower I am, Thor?”  
  
Thor looked appropriately abashed. “My apologies. That any brother of mine could be so feeble and frail constantly escapes me.”  
  
“If I didn’t know you were completely sincere, I’d be insulted. Well, I am insulted, but I’ll get over it.” Tony brushed himself off, ridding his clothes of imaginary dust. “So. You spoke with father, I take it?”  
  
“I did,” Thor said. “Have you considered presenting yourself in a less adversarial manner when you deliver bad news?”  
  
“Have you considered being less of a prick?”  
  
“Cow.”  
  
“Chicken.”  
  
Tony and Thor grinned at each other, all hurt feelings forgotten.  
  
“I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think it was for the best,” Tony said, sincerely. “Even if I sometimes resent being pushed aside for my glorious big brother, never doubt that I love you.”  
  
“And I you,” Thor replied. “However, don’t think that I won’t forget this any time soon. And when I ascend the throne, I will be sure to judge your mettle and worthiness of being an advisor to my illustrious self.”  
  
Tony shrugged. “You think mother and father haven’t already?”  
  
“I think…” Thor said, grabbing his helmet, “that you’re going to be late if you don’t hurry.”  
  
Tony still had to finish dressing, only half-prepared without his helmet or cape. He scowled at Thor and moved to go, his injuries mostly healed through the power of Iðunn’s apples, despite his more delicate nature. “Just because you favour goats, that doesn’t mean you need to act like one.”  
  
“I would say the same for you and tortoises, seeing how slowly you move, but I believe your favourite animal to be a duck.”  
  
“Lies and slander!” Tony cried, already halfway down the hallway to his room.  
  
By the time Thor arrived, Tony was already waiting on the steps leading up to their father’s throne. He looked like he’d been there for a while, no doubt having planned for any delays by having servants waiting for him just offstage. He looked fresh and well-turned out and not at all like he’d had Mjölnir on his chest mere minutes ago.  
  
He shot Thor a wink as Thor entered to thunderous applause. Thor accepted it with good grace, but he wasn’t as excited as he would have been without the last-minute alterations. He approached the foot of the throne and knelt, grounding Mjölnir and removing his helmet. The applause rose even higher until Odin stood, striking the ground with his spear and getting close to near silence in return.  
  
“Gungnir. Its aim is true, its power strong.” Odin’s voice started quietly and slowly, gradually building in volume and speed. “With it I have defended Asgard and the lives of the innocent across the Nine Realms since the time of the Great Beginning. It has few equals, just as the King as Asgard has few he can call true companions as well as subjects. Thor Odinson, my heir, my first-born.” Tony nodded once, sharply, just at the edge of Thor’s peripheral vision. “So long entrusted with the mighty hammer, Mjölnir. Forged in the heart of a dying star, from the sacred metal of Uru. Only one may lift it. Only one is worthy. Who wields this hammer commands the lightning and the storm. Its power has no equal – as a weapon, to destroy, or as a tool, to build. It is a fit companion for Asgard’s finest warrior!”  
  
He looked down, away from his people, at Thor and Thor alone. “Thor Odinson, do you swear to guard the Nine Realms?”  
  
Thor met his gaze. “I swear.”  
  
“Do you swear to preserve the peace?”  
  
“I swear.”  
   
“Do you swear to willingly cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of all the Realms?”  
  
Thor hesitated, his father’s promise of a ‘surprise’ stopping him from answering before thinking. Still… “I swear.”  
  
“Then on this day, I, Odin Allfather, proclaim you the Protector of Asgard.” Odin struck the ground with Gungnir again and blue-white bolts of power shot out from it, waves of magic that stood even Thor’s hair on end. “And thus I strip you of your powers.” Mjölnir flew towards Odin’s open palm and Thor’s armour started disintegrating to the nothingness from which it had been woven. “And cast you out from Asgard, that you may learn to understand what you have pledged today, and appreciate its weight.”  
  
As the floor opened up beneath Thor’s feet, Tony shot forward, insensible as always to magical powers. “Father, you can’t!”  
  
“And you, my youngest,” Odin declared, throwing Mjölnir in after Thor. “You have no powers for me to take, and yet you too must learn your place.” Another blast of power and Tony was pushed into the interdimensional hole, his armour melting away as well as he followed right after Thor. The moment he passed through, the portal closed and the power ebbed away, leaving behind only the silent shock of the assembled masses.  
  
“Should we do something? Fight? Applaud?” Fandral asked Volstagg, under his breath.  
  
Volstagg shook his head. “As in all difficult matters, I plan to follow the Allmother’s cues.”  
  
“Doesn’t that get awkward, what with her being a Queen and you being… you?”  
  
“Better awkward than executed.”  
  
“She seems well content with her husband’s actions,” Hogun pointed out. “At the very least, she is showing public support.”  
  
“So this was planned?” Fandral asked plaintively. “Why didn’t Thor say anything? It’s not like him to go adventuring without us.”  
  
“Don’t pout,” Hogun said. “Sif will have the truth of the situation within hours and we will act then. Still, this will certainly dampen tonight’s feast.”  
  
Volstagg brightened. “Oh, we’re still having the feast? Brilliant!”


	3. Alliances

“You’re sure this is the right spot?”

“Wait for it…”

“Or the right time, for that matter.”

“The last seventeen occurrences have been predictable to the minute. The anomalies are always precipitated by geomagnetic storms… I just don’t understand.”

“Uh… Jane?”

“Not now, Darcy. There’s got to be some new variable. I know there’s a connection between these storms and my research, Erik. I wouldn’t have dragged you out here on some wild goose chase, I swear.”

“Jane?”

“Oh for… _what_ , Darcy?”

“I think you need to see this.”

Above their heads, less than a mile away, the clouds parted in the night sky and rainbow lights filled the swirling void that parted them.

Jane grabbed onto the jeep, readying her equipment to get as good a read as she could. “Go, go!” Darcy slammed the accelerator, racing towards the strange aurora at her boss’s command. The ground was rough and uneven, but no one tore their eyes away from the lights in the sky, which were growing stronger and faster, rather than fainter. Jane started recording the heat signature, the EM frequencies, everything her equipment could, as they drew closer and closer.

And then the lights touched down, with a sonic boom, and all three of them realized at once that they were, perhaps, rather _too_ close.

Darcy turned the wheel as hard left as it could go and the jeep spun over 180 degrees. By the time she reoriented herself, Jane realized that they were moving _away_ from the anomaly. “Darcy, what…”

“I’m not dying for six college credits,” Darcy snapped.

“No one’s _dying,_ ” Jane retorted, grabbing the wheel to steer them back towards the whirlwind of light and dust that had touched down from the sky. “This isn’t even a real tornado.”

“Looks real enough to me!” Darcy said, trying to wrest control back from Jane.

They saw the silhouette a split second before they heard the thump of the jeep hitting a body and Jane’s passenger window cracking at the impact. All thoughts of anomalies and credits flew out of their heads as the jeep rolled to a stop a few feet away and the tornado dissipated into an almost unnaturally still windless night.

Darcy and Jane shared a horrified look and then jumped out of the jeep, racing towards the fallen person.

“Get the first aid kit,” Jane called to Darcy as she fell to her knees beside the body. “Please don’t be dead.” She felt for a pulse and her heart skipped with relief when she found it.

As Selvig and Darcy flanked her, Jane heard the crunching sound of steps on the desert floor. “Thor, get up.”

She looked up. The headlights of the car weren’t pointing directly at them, but there was enough light to make out a second form, a man, looming over her and her… victim. Thor. “Is he your friend? We need to get him to a hospital. Does he have any allergies?”

“Does he need CPR?” Darcy interjected from over Jane’s shoulder. “’Cause I totally know CPR.”

Her tone wasn’t quite as concerned as it should have been. It was more… impressed. Jane frowned; they had an injured man here. This was not the time.

The looming man knelt. “He is Thor, son of Odin. He needs no CPR from the likes of you, and has all the allergies required. And more.” He shook Thor. “Get up, you inconsiderate lug, we’re surrounded by fools and dilatants. And not in the fun way.”

Thor remained unresponsive. Jane shot a look at Darcy who shrugged and mouthed ‘ _foreigner?’_. His accent sounded American, but his turn of phrase was odd, like he had learned English from reading old-fashioned books. Then they both turned to Selvig.

“I don’t know _every_ non-American in this country,” Selvig pointed out, somewhat indignantly.

"American?” The strange man repeated. “Is that where we are? You have none of the elegance of the elven races, nor the beauty of the Vanir, although you are closer in kind to them than to the various races of dwarves or giants.” He nodded. “This is acceptable. Find shelter or a place of healing for my brother, and we will discuss the nature of your trespasses at another time.”

This time, Jane was the one who mouthed ‘ _brother_?’ at Selvig and Darcy, and got only shrugs in return. The man stood and pushed past Jane and Darcy, facing Selvig alone. “On your honour, I charge you with the protection and safety of Asgard’s heir. Accept it with pride or shoulder the shame of refusal.”

Selvig blinked. “We’ve been trying to get him to a hospital. _You’re_ the one being unhelpful.”

“How dare–”

“Boys!” Jane interrupted them. “Later. We have to go now.” She looked mournfully at the markings surrounding them, odd etchings from the light from the sky, but they were already fading, blown to nothing by the light wind and the copious sand. It was too late to get any data, physical or otherwise. They’d have to rely on the imaging and other data from the anomaly itself.

She’d taken her eyes off Thor for less than a second, and just missed the gasp of air as he regained consciousness, turning back to him just as he started and his eyes darted from face to face, with his brother(?) turned away from him, searching for something familiar.

He didn’t find it, whatever he was looking for, and the way he stood, whirling and lashing out, made Jane fall back rather than reaching out to comfort him as she might have.

“Father. Hammer. _Father_.”

“I want to make a pun on ‘hammer’, but calling out for your dad is just too sad,” Darcy said, shaking her head in mock pity.

The strange man turned from Selvig and rushed over to Thor. “Thor! Brother. Calm yourself. We are in the care of these… Americans. They will take you to a place of healing. You are mortal now, apparently, and the tiniest of injuries seems sufficient to lay you out long enough to loot your corpse.”

That seemed morbid. Thor, however, took it almost gratefully, latching onto the other man like a lifeline. “Tony! You were cast out as well?”

“I find ‘cast out’ to be a strong term,” the shorter man, Tony, said. “I prefer to think of this as forcibly expanding our horizons. After all, we’ve never been to ‘America’ before.”

“Well great,” Jane said. “Let’s tour some of our greater hospitals, hmm?”

“What?”

“A healing centre,” Tony explained.

“I have no need for one,” Thor objected. “I am… perfectly… has Loki taught you to form doppelgangers?”

Tony frowned. “Of course no– Thor? Thor!” He managed to catch the larger man as he teetered over and lost consciousness, pitching forward as his eyes rolled back into his head. It was a comical image, the tall, muscled, blond supported by the shorter, leaner, dark-haired man. Especially when Tony shifted his grip and lifted Thor in a princess carry.

“To your hospital. Now.”

Darcy held up the keys. “I’m not driving this time.”

Once they got to the hospital, Jane and Selvig hovered on either side of Tony as Thor was wheeled away. The ER intake nurse had started directing her questions to Tony, but kept looking at the others for backup. Whenever Tony’s answers were vague or incomprehensible. Once she had as accurate a medical history as she could get, she turned to demographics. “His name?”

“Thor Odinson, heir to Asgard and subordinate Realms, the Mighty Thunderer, Wyrm’s Bane, Mjölnir’s Weilder, Lord of Thjalfi and Roskva, and Asgard’s Protector.”

The nurse frowned before turning towards her computer. “Tee, ache, oh…”

Tony turned away from the nurse, peering down the hall that Thor had disappeared down. “Can I join my brother?”

“You’re brothers?”

“Anthony Odinson.”

The nurse looked up wryly. “No other titles?”

“Nothing relevant.” Tony turned back to her with a rakish smile. “I suppose I’ll have to earn them again, in this fine Realm.”

She flushed, but turned back to the computer. “Ay, en, tee…”

Tony’s gaze wandered again, along with his attention. Selvig lay a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You seem to have this in order. We’ll just be going…”

“Yeah, lots of data to go through,” Jane added, almost managing to mask her excitement with an apologetic tone.

Tony looked at her carefully. “You seemed interested in the bifröst, were you not?”

“The what? The anomaly?”

Tony smiled. “I will offer you information in exchange for your services as guides and hosts in this land. In return, I will ask that Thor forgive the injury you caused him.” He snorted. “And I may even keep his easy defeat a secret from his companions.”

“Easy defeat? Dude, that was a fully loaded jeep,” Darcy protested. “He took it like a man – yelling and then fainting.” She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe I need better men in my life. Ooh, if we’re your guides, does that mean we get to keep you?”

“ _Darcy_.”

“What? There’s two, we can share.”

Jane refused to be distracted by nonsense. “You know about the anomaly. Truly?”

“Truly. The only limits to the knowledge I can impart are your clumsy language and your ability to comprehend concepts that are likely far beyond your race’s capabilities to understand or even contemplate.”

Jane smiled, hard and eager. “I do love a challenge.”

Tony mirrored her expression. “Then I do believe we will get along brilliantly for the duration of my exile.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Get a room you two.” She brightened. “Does that mean I get big and blondie?”

“Ah, Thor.” Tony sobered up immediately. “I should go to him immediately. Thank you for the reminder, my lady.”

“Just call me Darcy,” Darcy said. “And she’s Jane, and Erik’s the guy who wandered off to the vending machines. They’re the ones who’ll be interested in your technobabble.”

Tony inclined his head. “Then, for the time being, you may refer to me as ‘Tony’. Thor will decide how he wishes to be addressed when he awakens.” He bowed slightly, a sharp incline of his head. “Until then, Lady Darcy.”

As he followed the path his brother’s gurney had taken, Darcy turned to Jane, uncharacteristically solemn. “Are you sure about this? They’re cute, but they seem kind of… nuts.”

“They appeared in the middle of the anomaly, they have to know _something_ ,” Jane said. “I’m not losing this chance.” She shrugged. “And if they’re dangerous psychopaths, we’ll just call the cops. Simple.”

“Alright, but we’d better start sleeping in shifts.” Darcy yawned. “I’ll go first. You have all that data to make love to.”

Jane grinned. “All in all, this has been a very good day, Darcy.”

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

The stench and darkness were troubling, but the only thing Loki noticed, the one thing that sent him spiralling into something close to panic was how beastly _warm_ it was.

He’d regained his Jötunn form in the coldness of the void between worlds, an instinctive protective measure to keep his false Asgardian flesh safe from the icy nothingness of between-space. It was now nothing more than a curse, as he felt the dry dirty heat that only forge-fires could produce, shrinking his skin, melting his core. He felt sick; sick to the point of longing for some kind of end, although he knew there was only one possible ending in a situation like this.

He would welcome the cold embrace of Hel’s arms, were they to be offered to him.

“You’re awake.”

Moving hurt too much. Speaking was out of the question. Loki felt as though he was wrapped in sandpaper. Sandpaper that was on fire.

And then a small calloused hand pressed on his chest and blessed coolness travelled through him. He could breathe again.

When much of the fog cleared from his mind, Loki blinked his eyes open and looked into the worried gaze of a short, bearded figure.

“…dwarf?” Loki asked hoarsely.

“Ivaldi,” the dwarf replied. “Are you feeling better, giant?”

“Loki,” Loki corrected, waiting for the usual awkwardness that came from people realizing the runt (or unfamiliar Vanir or Asgardian) they were talking to was King of Jötunheim. He only hoped the revelation wouldn’t stop the blessed coolness the dwarf Ivaldi was offering him.

Ivaldi just nodded. “Thought you seemed small.” Loki tried to laugh, but it hurt too much. Ivaldi pressed a small cup of water to his lips, and Loki managed, after a few false starts, to drink. The water was also uncomfortably warm, but at least it was wet, and it soothed his parched throat as well as the finest wines or mead ever had.

His basic necessities met, Loki turned his attention inward. A quick inventory of his injuries left Loki confused and relieved. Apart from the severe heatstroke, debilitating enough on its own, there were hardly and injuries at all, and all of them were minor and healing now that his body didn’t have to fight off the heat. Whoever had brought him here seemed to want him whole.

Speaking of. Loki coughed and sat up. “Where is this place?” Dark, hot, dry, but the air was oddly heavy. They were surrounded by rock, covered by it, with a weight so palpable Loki could feel it pressing down on him.

“Svartálfaheim, the underground caves. You are the cordial guest of Malekith, sovereign king of this Realm. No one’s coming for you.”

Loki raised an elegant eyebrow. No one would come for him? He was a king in his own right, one who had forged strong alliances with the most powerful and venerated Realms under Yggdrasil. He may not have been of Asgard, but the moment he was discovered missing Thor, or possibly even Odin Allfather himself, would order Heimdall to find him. The watcher had no love for Loki personally, but he was loyal and faithful to his rulers. He would be hunted for and found and, somehow, he would turn this to his advantage.

As if reading his mind, Ivaldi shook his head. “You are not the only creature who has learned to evade the supposed all-seeing gazes of Heimdall and Odin Allfather. The same magic that shielded you when you played your pranks hides you from their sights now, along with your captor’s plans. The caverns are infused with magic, and you are personally shielded as well as bound to this place.”

Loki looked down, following Ivaldi’s gaze to his chest where an intricate pattern of runes decorated his chest. Some of them – the runes for concealment and restraint and weakness and various spells strengthening and impelling them – looked very familiar, only slightly altered from what Loki would have used, indicating a formal training in magic on a level similar to Loki’s own. Others were less recognizable, although the pattern was clearly elvish, and were likely Malekith’s racial magic. Some of them were so intricate that they must had been personal magic, obscure and specific spells were likely of Malekith’s own making, or that of his chief mage.

Loki wanted to laugh. They’d restrained him with magic. _Him_ , he who had been born during a surge of magic so powerful that it left his dam barren and stunted his growth. He who had raised Jötunheim up from practical obscurity to the near equal of Asgard and Vanaheim. He, the sorcerer king of Jötunheim, bound by foreign _magic_.

It was insulting, was what it was. They hadn’t even blocked him off from his own powers, although the runes for weakness slowed the normally racing magic to a sluggish crawl and the heat made focusing very difficult. Still, the situation was far from impossible, as long as he had his life and his powers. He gave himself a week before he managed to break through each of the curses etched on his chest and find his way home through one of the myriad of secret ways connecting the Realms.

“When I escape,” Loki started, furiously planning his vengeance on Malekith, on anyone who played a part in his capture, on the entire Realm, guilty or innocent.

Ivaldi shook his head, waving his arms to cut Loki off. “You mustn’t say such things.” It was only then that Loki even noticed the spell of watchful listening that was cast over the entire room, weaving skilfully though the spells of concealment. Ivaldi nodded. “You mustn’t panic. You will be well treated here, Loki-king, as well as a prisoner can be. You are far too valuable to be wasted on pointless torture and abuse. Your people will not have to mourn your death if you keep a calm head and restrained manner.”

Loki snorted. “Jötunheim doesn’t mourn her fallen kings. She avenges them.”

“If that is the case, then the poor magic-workers who sent you astray must be dead by now,” Ivaldi said. “No one knows you’re here. No one knows who to seek vengeance from.”

“I do.”

A whisper of magic off to the side was the only warning before the wall to the cave disappeared and three dark elves entered, armed with weapons and magic. Loki struggled to stand, only to find his legs lacking the strength to allow him.

“Don’t get up, Your Majesty,” the lead elf declared, gloating at least a little at the captured Jötunn king. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

Ivaldi moved away, and the pervasive heat washed over Loki again. “He is still unwell, he needs cooler temperatures.”

The lead elf made a gesture and Ivaldi gasped in pain. Loki knew he wouldn’t have to lift up his shirt to see if Ivaldi had the same runes on his chest as Loki had on his. It seemed that Malekith had prepared for this.

“Well or unwell, you are not yet dead, Loki-king, and you have our master’s forbearance to thank for that. In return, he asks little. Only the Casket of Ancient Winters.”

Loki scoffed. “If your master is as clever as he thinks he is, he must know that I cannot deliver that to him.”

Another gesture, and Loki felt waves of pure, blinding pain course through him, leaving him gasping. He missed the gesture that stopped the pain, only looking up again when the waves stopped, leaving behind aching, throbbing nerves and the occasional muscle spasm.

“The Casket answers to only two – Jötunheim’s ruler, or her conqueror,” the dark elf said, as if repeating verbatim a lecture he had recently been given. “King Malekith has no quarrel with your people, and no wish to become the latter. Therefore, it lies to the former to give him what he wants.”

Loki coughed, the pain and the dry hot air making it hard to breathe. “Then send me to Jötunheim to retrieve it. Otherwise it is as out of my reach as it is his.” The elf raised his hand again. “Wait!” Loki had no desire to feel such pain again, at least not pointlessly. “I cannot make the Casket appear out of thin air. It is of Jötunheim and will remain there as long as Jötunheim and her people have the power to rule it. But I can give you the power that your master craves, the power of the Frost Giants, the power that once made Asgard tremble.”

“How?”

“I am Jötunheim’s true King, anointed and embraced by the land and by the people. Through my veins runs the purest power of my Realm, and I have the learning and the skill to harness it. I cannot give your master the Casket, but I can give him something just as powerful, geared towards whatever use he has in mind, without the trouble of breaking ancient laws.”

The dark elf hesitated. “I will take this offer to King Malekith, but do not be surprised if he rejects it. When he has his mind set on something, he doesn’t often bend.”

Loki inclined his head. “As a fellow king, I can respect that.” He waited until the elves left before slumping back, relief coursing through him. He was careful to keep his expression as neutral as possible, despite the mixture of pain and panic he felt coursing through him.

“Can you actually do that?” Ivaldi asked, once again tracing cooling runes over the ones on Loki’s chest, weaving a practical kind of magic through the curses. Loki watched him and smiled.

“Of course I can,” he lied. “As long as my magic is limited by these spells, it will take longer, but it can be done.”

Ivaldi looked at him intently, for a long, loaded moment. “Then it is true, what they say of you, Loki Silvertongue, Loki Mischief-maker? You are all they claim?”

The _kennings_ Ivaldi had chosen spoke more of Loki’s ability to lie and feint rather than of his power. If Ivaldi was asking if he was bluffing… “All that and more, my friend.”

Ivaldi nodded, looking solemn. “Then perhaps we will be set free.”

“Oh,” Loki said, just barely holding himself back from laughing outright at the very idea. “Undoubtedly.”

They didn’t have to wait long, just until Loki was almost feeling comfortable in his skin again, before the dark elf returned with his retinue.

“King Malekith has agreed to your offer, Loki-king. You will start now.”

Loki looked up at him, trying to seem as pitiful as possible. “Might I have some of the limitations on my powers removed? The work will go faster and easier.”

“Until you escape back to Jötunheim.” The dark elf laughed. “Do you think us fools, Loki-king? We were clever enough to capture you, out from under the noses of your greatest magic weavers and trained guards. We will not lose you so readily.”

“Then you and your king will need patience, and I will need a work space.” Loki mustered the energy to stand. “And a source of light.”

"Anything else?”

Loki shrugged, putting on an unaffected air. “If it’s not too much bother, a cooling charm would ease some of my discomfort and spare more power towards this project.”

The dark elf looked towards Ivaldi, a small frown marring his features. “I will ask for these things.” He turned back to Loki. “We have no quarrel with you, Laufeyjarson, nor with your Realm or people. We merely want what is our due, what has been denied us through the eons of Asgardian rule. When you have completed your tasks, you will be released, to return to your people in peace.”

“Well,” Loki said, smiling brightly. “There’s that to look forward to, isn’t there?”

“Keep your home close to your heart, Loki-king. Keep faith with us and we will return you there.”

Loki watched the dark elf as he turned to go, confused at the sudden change in his attitude. “Your name.”

The elf hesitated before turning back. “What?”

“I would have your name. If you’re as honourable as you claim, if you will treat fairly with me as you say, I would have your name so that I can tell others of your great honesty.”

“My promises are not my own. They are my king’s.”

“Nevertheless,” Loki smiled. “They fall from your lips and you are not so weak that you cannot think and speak for yourself. Give me your name.”

It was the third time he’d asked. There weren’t many who could make him go that far.

The dark elf grimaced. “As you’ve asked for it thrice, I cannot refuse. I am Algrim the Strong, warrior of Svartálfaheim, and I speak not for myself, but for my king.”

“Algrim.” Loki nodded. “I will remember.”

Even he wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a threat.


	4. Adaptation

Work started immediately. It was difficult going, particularly as Loki had no idea how to deliver on what he’d promised. It wasn’t just a lie he was selling, it had to be more, a full and complete performance. He had been given a bench to work at and enough light to see into the dark corners of his small cave, but nothing more. Food came by once daily, and was always hot. Ivaldi managed with very little trouble, but Loki could feel himself ebbing away under the constant pressure of the rock bearing down on him and the suffocating heat.

There were a lot of ‘false starts’. Under the careful observation of their watchers, Loki lost days of work in a moment of carelessness, cursing and occasionally crying at the wasted energy. He spent hours curled up, shivering in the heat, his body reacting like it was going into shock. Ivaldi occasionally managed to work his dwarven magic to cool him, but there was a reason why dwarves were renown for their craftsmanship and creativity rather than their magical powers. Ivaldi had good intentions, but he couldn’t quite manage to keep the strength to maintain the magic long enough to give Loki any lasting relief.

Which worked well with Loki’s overall plan, but was miserable while it lasted.

The heatstroke was by far the worst, as Loki drifted semi-conscious on a dry sea of misery and pain. But there were moments that were almost as bad, moments when he was lucid and his mind raced, but he didn’t have the physical strength to do anything but talk.

At first, he kept quiet during those times, playing over the schedule of food delivery, how many different dark elves visited him after Algrim’s last visit, the magics that flowed through the room and were etched on his chest. There were enough puzzles to keep his mind occupied while his body trembled with weakness.

But it was lonely.

Loki had been first a prince and then a king, a disappointing king, but royalty nonetheless. He wasn’t used to being alone, and even less used to the loneliness that isolation brought. So he reached out, to the one person available.

“Where are you from?”

“A small village in Niðavellir. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

Loki smiled. “Likely not. Tell me of your home.”

“It’s cooler, brighter. We have mountains covered in gold and the rarest metals are plentiful if you know where to look. The forges keep us warm in the winter and we can mine nonstop during the long length of the summer days. I have a wife and several sons, as well as a daughter by an Asgardian woman, both of whom dwell in that Realm.” Ivaldi smiled. “You may have met her. Iðunn?”

The memory of the young keeper of Asgard’s apples made Loki’s smile widen. “I know of her but, naturally not being Asgardian myself, I haven’t had the honour of formally meeting her.”

Ivaldi shook his head. “I may not have seen her for ages, but we do write. I know of your attempts to steal her apples, as well as what happened with Thjazi.”

“That was a misunderstanding,” Loki said. “Thjazi was slightly… overenthusiastic in his appreciation, perhaps, but he was punished for his indiscretions and reparations were made.”

“Still, that was a rotten trick to play, just for some apples.”

“Well, if Iðunn had just given some to me…” Loki felt his stomach clench. He truly hadn’t meant any harm (well, not much harm) when he’d sent Thjazi to distract Iðunn and her keepers. He’d known of Thjazi’s desires and offered him a chance to see them through without thinking about the young maiden he was putting in harm’s way. She had guards and friends, but the fact that she’d been attacked and nearly worse was undeniably something that wouldn’t have happened had Loki not allowed Thjazi to accompany him to Asgard and put them in close contact.

Loki had learned his lesson. When Thrym had demanded Freya’s hand in marriage in return for Thor’s hammer, Loki hadn’t even allowed Freya to act as bait, weaving spells and illusions around Thor instead. It had been slightly embarrassing for all involved – Thor, for having to wear a wedding dress and present himself as a woman, Thrym for being tricked, and Loki for having to deal with both his friend and his armsmaster afterward with both of them rather upset with him. Well, it was less embarrassing for Loki and more amusing, if a slight political headache.

But at least Freya hadn’t been placed in harm’s way like Iðunn had.

Loki shifted uncomfortably. Apologies weren’t his style; he preferred reparations, large, ostentatious gifts that erased any hard feelings. But there was nothing he could do for Ivaldi here. Indeed, he was rather at the dwarf’s mercy, and Ivaldi had been more than merciful, he’d been patient and kind and gentle.

“She is a very noble girl, one of the best of Asgard, loyal and dutiful,” Loki said. “The last time I saw her, she seemed happy, despite being wed to that idiot, Bragi.”

Ivaldi laughed. “In that, my friend, we are in complete and total agreement.”

It was slow going, but Loki was gradually coming up with plans and ideas for escape. The dark elves who brought them food or replenished their light sources were never the same twice, a reasonable precaution when dealing with a renown shrewd negotiator and manipulator like Loki. They were never allowed to leave the cave, so any purely physical escape was impossible to plan. Over time and with practice, Loki had actually managed to do something of what he’d promised – gather his power and manifest it outside his own body, gradually adding to it until it was useable as an energy source. It was expensive and draining, and took concentration to maintain, but he could easily imagine a dozen uses for it in an escape attempt.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough on its own. Not with the limitations carved into Loki’s chest. He wouldn’t make it more than a day after expending as much energy as he would need, given his magical restrictions. It was incredibly frustrating to be unable to do the simplest of spells, ones that had become almost second nature to him, due to lack of power.

And then, of course, there was always the heat.

Loki looked up hopefully, as their daily allotment of bread and water and fruit was dropped off. “Any charms?”

Ivaldi looked through the tray. “None.” There had been the occasional cooling charms, given randomly and tauntingly short-lasting. They were more of a power-play than an effective remedy, a reminder that Loki’s discomfort could be relieved with little effort and only at the whim of King Malekith. It was petty, but effective, and Loki had found himself working harder at creating something that would last, something that at least seemed like the thing Malekith wanted, in the hopes of another charm.

It never came. Either the elven king was unimpressed by Loki’s progress, or he had simply forgotten. Either way, every time Loki hoped, he felt like a fool.

Ivaldi came close, offering Loki the first swallow of water. Loki took it and watched the dwarf thoughtfully, wondering for the first time about him, how he had come to be here, who he was.

If he’d been chosen as a plant, an ally who would betray Loki in the end, Loki had to admit it was a good choice. Ivaldi seemed kindly and patient, just skilled enough with magic to keep Loki from going mad from the heat, just talkative and encouraging enough to keep Loki from going mad from boredom and loneliness. But it was a mite too obvious, after he’d brought up Iðunn, a beloved daughter for whose sake he might consider revenge. If he just hadn’t mentioned her, Loki would have had no reason to mistrust him, other than the convenience of his presence.

But he had, and Loki wasn’t the most trusting of people in the first place.

Ivaldi looked up from where he was sectioning the food onto plates. “What?”

“Tell me about your sons,” Loki said. “I know of your daughter, but I’ve never met your other children.”

Ivaldi raised an eyebrow and finished serving, placing one of the meals in front of Loki and taking the water cup back from him. “My sons are famous throughout the Realms as some of the finest workmen in Niðavellir. They have created some of the greatest treasures outside of Asgard’s treasure room. If you haven’t heard of them, that is your loss, Jötunn.”

Loki laughed, and it felt good. “I meant no offense. You’re entirely correct; Jötunheim has little need for smiths and builders. Everything we create comes from the land itself, the ice shaped by magic and willpower into whatever we need. It is functional, and beautiful in its own way, and so we rarely treat with other Realms for treasures and tools. Should I have need of anything extraordinary, I will be sure to engage your sons.”

“Good.” Ivaldi nodded brusquely. “That is as it should be. A rich and powerful patron for my boys.”

“Indeed.” Loki opened his arms. “With all this wealth, surely an alliance worth having.”

This time, Ivaldi joined in when Loki laughed. It wasn’t really funny, that they were captured here, away from their family and friends, away from their powerbase and people, but it was either laugh or scream, and neither of them were screamers.

“And you?” Ivaldi asked when they’d both calmed down. “What children have you sired?”

Loki felt a sharp pain of regret. It was odd, as he’d never regretted his solitary existence before. “None, neither sired nor born from my body.”

“Ah.” Ivaldi looked sympathetic. “Any other family?”

“My dam was made barren after giving birth to me, and my sire refused to bear children or mate with another. I have never had the freedom to make any permanent liaisons, and those who grace my bed require strong spells and potions to ensure no illegitimate issue.”

“Sounds lonely.”

Loki shrugged. “To many men it is the ideal life. I have my pick of whoever I want, for as long as I want, with no longterm consequences. When I am wed, it will be to the betterment of all my people, and possibly the people of another Realm as well. My life is what I make of it, and until I cam given the chance to serve my people, I am free to play as I will.”

Ivaldi looked at him. “And friends?”

Loki thought of Angrboda, of her patience with his whims and the beautiful smile he could sometimes charm or surprise from her face. He thought of Thrym whose only care was for Loki’s wellbeing, who respected Loki and the crown of Jötunheim, but that never stopped him from scolding or lecturing Loki when he felt it was deserved. He thought of Skrymir who had supported him throughout his reign. He thought of Tony, whose brilliant mind could follow Loki’s and whose creativity led Loki down interesting paths as well, and of Thor whose genuine good nature and comradeship had allowed Loki to forge bonds he’d never thought possible with the alien Asgardians.

There were others as well; Freyr, one of the best men Loki had known and one of the weakest, whose secrets left him vulnerable to all who knew him and yet whose pride and drive allowed him to rule despite that. Odin and Frigga who had never looked down on Loki for being Jötunn or for being Laufey’s son. Heimdall who hated Loki every bit as much as Loki loathed him, and yet who kept the bifröst open for him, never once allowing his control to slip, for Loki to fall into the void as he had before coming here.

People Loki trusted, to a point. For Angrboda and Thrym and Skrymir, to very nearly the same point Loki trusted himself. Was that friendship?

“I have a few. Enough.” This topic was getting uncomfortable. Loki sought refuge in the small meal in front of him. “Do your sons know that you’re here?”

Ivaldi shook his head. “I live alone, I don’t travel much, and we write to each other only occasionally. It will be many more moons until they notice my silence.”

“Then it seems that family and friends are not the boon you would make them out to be,” Loki said, a little unkindly. “I, at least, will be missed.”

“Indeed,” Ivaldi agreed. “They will mourn you and create monuments to your glory. And then they will move on. As they moved on from your sire’s death.”

Loki smiled. “Skrymir will take the throne. Jötunheim will be well cared for in my absence. And then when I esc– when I leave here, I will resume my duties.” He looked at Ivaldi, regretting his harsh words already. “Would you care to come with me?”

It was the first time he’d offered anything like a true alliance. He was sure Ivaldi had some ideas regarding escape, despite the fact that he seemed to have nothing to do but assist Loki with his paltry magic. One of the Nine Realms’ most brilliant smiths, and he was relegated to whispering cantrips and tracing subtle runes between the intricate spells and curses on Loki’s chest. It was a waste. A very odd waste.

Ivaldi nodded. “I would be honoured, of course.”

“Excellent.” If Malekith had taken Ivaldi because he could work cooling magic and wouldn’t be missed, then that was his short-sightedness. Loki planned to use him properly, as befitted a dwarf’s talents.

Of course, if Malekith had some other plan for Ivaldi, one that Loki had interrupted, then he would simply have to fight to keep him.

Liesmith and Trickster they may have called him, but once Loki gave his word he kept it. Twisted, perhaps, favouring himself, definitely, but kept.

And he had promised that Ivaldi would come with him.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

Thor woke up in a strange place, a white room with wan lighting and glowing pictures of bones on the walls.

Jötunheim?

A strange man loomed over him, pale pink skin, but dressed in blue with a strange slingshot-like object dangling from his neck. “Hi!” He sounded friendly enough, but his hands were on Thor, sliding over the inner aspect of his arm, intimate and unwelcome. “Just finishing up here.”

There was a small needle sticking out of Thor’s arm, and bottles containing what looked to be his blood.

Thor had no skill with any magic outside of the storms he and Mjölnir raised. But he knew, as every Asgardian child knew, of the dangers of leaving blood and body parts and even hair with magic users.

“Get your filthy hands off me!” Thor pulled away, and the needle tore through his flesh, leaving a small but still bleeding wound behind. “How dare you attack the son of Odin!”

“Thor!” Before Thor could get the leverage to properly beat down these heathen sorcerers, Tony was there, a restraining hand on his shoulders, a comforting, familiar face in the midst of all the strangeness. “Calm down. They’re just trying to help.”

Thor peered up at him. “They took my _blood_.”

“I know,” Tony said. “It’s a typical healing measure here in America. I asked the other patients in this healing house and they had all had it done and remained unharmed.” He smiled. “Occasionally they take the urine as well.”

Thor just stared in horror at Tony’s acceptance. “Barbarians.”

“Indeed,” Tony agreed, resuming his seat beside Thor’s bed. The blood-taker had left with his vials as soon as Thor had released him. “They seem not to have the skills we have on Asgard, but look – their blood healing has worked. You are awake and as lucid as ever.”

There was a small bandage on Tony’s arm, in the same place that Thor was now bleeding. “They took your blood as well?”

Tony shrugged. “They allowed us to stay in the same room, but once I explained our situation to the healing doctors, they decided I required their services as much as you did.”

“Oh.” Thor stood up, feeling oddly exposed in the blue gown he had been dressed in. Tony, at least, was still in his leathers. Thor was used to the linens of the healing rooms, they allowed access to injured parts and ease of movement, but they never felt comfortable to him. Possibly because he only wore them while injured. “I feel fine. Should we leave?”

Tony thought that over. “I think so. They may not be up to Asgard’s standards, but they are effective enough. Do warn me if you feel any aftereffects from the blood magic, though. They may usually discard the samples when they’re done, as they explained, but if they figure out that they have the blood of the sons of Odin, they may yet find some use for them.”

“Should we retrieve them?” Thor asked. Tony was already shaking his head.

“Such an act of distrust is beneath you, brother. The people of America seem very reasonable. They have healed our wounds, and even those who harmed you admitted their fault and have agreed to make reparations. They will host us and be our guides, and Thor…” Tony leaned forward, his excitement barely repressed. “They’re _scientists_.”

Thor groaned. “Only you, Tony, would find your brethren in another Realm the moment you touched down.”

“I know!” Tony looked practically giddy. “And they have agreed to an exchange of information and ideas. I am to explain the bifröst, which is simple enough, and they will open up this Realm’s science to me.”

That was all very well and good, but Thor was trapped here, powerless and bereft, and in grave need of direction. “And what am I to do in that time. What does father want of me?”

Tony sobered up immediately. “About that… I do have an idea. Mjölnir is here, somewhere in this Realm, and doubtless you are to go on a quest to retrieve it.” He shrugged. “I have no idea how that is supposed to teach you the meaning of your vows, but father has always been adamant that Mjölnir only answers to a worthy wielder, and you have always been that wielder.”

“What if I’m no longer worthy?”

“You’re not starting that again, are you?” Tony asked, exasperated. “There’s a difference between ‘not worthy’ and ‘not ready’. You’ve done nothing _wrong_ , Thor, certainly nothing father hasn’t encouraged in you throughout the years. This isn’t a punishment, it can’t be. It’s an opportunity.” Tony grinned. “And I, for one, plan to milk it for all it’s worth.” Thor still didn’t look convinced. Tony clasped his hand. “ _Think_ , Thor. You will be king, eventually, and regent before then. You will be tied and tethered to the throne, as Asgard takes all your vitality and energy from you, as it has with father. This is an excuse for one last grand adventure, in a place utterly unknown!”

Thor looked up at his brother. “Then why did father take my powers?”

Tony laughed. “Spend some time with these people, and you’ll see why, Thor. They are weak and small, easily frightened, susceptible to all manner of diseases and ailments. The Mighty Thor would have only terrified them, whereas Thor Odinson, mortal from nowhere, is accepted.”

“I don’t… I feel wrong, Tony. Not merely weaker or feebler, but _wrong_.”

“We’ll get things back to rights, Thor. I promise. But until then, take the opportunity to look at the worlds through different eyes. It might be illuminating.”

Thor peered up at Tony. “You’re just enjoying watching me lowered to your level.”

Tony’s eyes flashed. “Maybe a bit. Maybe it’s kind of nice to be the one who fits in while you’re struggling to adapt. But Thor,” Tony reached out and clasped Thor’s shoulder, “I will be with you, as you were with me in Asgard. It’s hard, but it’s not impossible. And you are Thor Odinson. Have you ever backed down from a challenge?”

“Never!” Thor thundered, getting back some of his usual energy. “I shall overcome these limitations and return to Asgard in full glory!”

“Sure. But until then, just follow my lead. We need to find the Ladies Jane and Darcy, and their guardian Erik Selvig.” Tony frowned. “Unfortunately, I have no idea where they are.”

Thor returned to the bed, laying back and waving vaguely. “I’m sure you’ll take care of all that.”

Tony couldn’t help but smile fondly. “As always, Thor, ever-ready and at your service.” Thor grinned back, sharing in the long-running joke.

Unfortunately, Tony had no idea where to even look. He’d lost track of them after finding Thor’s room and asked after them while Thor slept and the doctors ‘ran some tests’, which included wheeling Thor into a room and placing his head in a large metal cylinder. Seeing that contraption had been the moment when Tony decided that he was going to get as much out of Lady Jane as she got out of him, but no one knew of them, no matter who Tony asked.

It was as if these people had no care for their neighbours, remaining insularly focused on their own business and ignoring everything that happened around them. Or perhaps, and these thoughts were exciting, the Realm of America was so expansive and contained so many scientists that a small number of them wasn’t worth noting.

Tony knew of every scientifically-minded Asgardian, Vanir, and Jötunn. There were plenty of dwarves and elves whose inclinations leaned towards science, but they tended to tread well-worn paths, using only already proven methods and experimenting as little as possible. As for the rare ones who applied creativity and ingenuity, Tony knew all of them as well. And they knew him.

So the idea of a scientist or three passing unnoticed was as exciting as it was frustrating. As Thor fell asleep, Tony decided to wait in the healing rooms, with the other injured and sick Americans. The Lady Jane, if she was true to her word and as interested in the bifröst as Tony expected, would find them, as long as they stayed still long enough.

Also, Thor’s bed, while narrow, seemed comfortable enough. Tony shoved his brother over and curled up next to him, over the covers but close enough to share body heat. He closed his eyes and slept, but lightly, as he’d been trained to do on many hunts and during many battles.

“Aww, they’re so _cute_. Can we keep them?”

Tony carefully didn’t wake up. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Lady Jane (or Lady Darcy who seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with ownership) but honesty was a rare commodity, and easier to come by if one wasn’t caught eavesdropping.

“Don’t get distracted, Darcy. They’re here to tell us what it was like being in the middle of that anomaly,” Lady Jane, as focused on business as usual.

“The bifröst, they called it.” Erik Selvig’s voice was less excited, more cautious. Tony approved. “You have to keep in mind, Jane, that nothing they’ve said has made a lick of sense.”

It had made _perfect_ sense. It wasn’t Tony’s fault that their worldview was so narrow that they couldn’t appreciate that truth.

“Sense or nonsense, they came from the center of the anomaly, and I can get data from them that I couldn’t get from any machine. You _saw_ the markings, Erik, you even said they looked familiar.”

“I said they looked like runes, but I only got a brief look and it’s not like I studied ancient Norse.”

“They were runes,” Tony said, grinning at Darcy’s small ‘eep’ as he sat up. “Woven and tied together, instructions about origin and destination, directing which path to travel through, as well as protection along the way. The bifröst – the epitome of Asgardian engineering and magic.”

Thor made a muffled sound of protect and snuggled closer to Tony’s warmth. Tony smiled fondly and threaded his fingers easily though Thor’s tangled hair.

Darcy muffled a snicker. “Brothers, huh?” Tony frowned, sending Jane a silent query about the meaning behind Darcy’s question.

Jane waved it aside. “Engineering and _magic_?”

“Obviously,” Tony said. “I would have thought that apparent.” It looked like they would have to start more basic than he’d expected. “Perhaps if I can see what you’ve already figured out, I can extrapolate from there.”

Jane considered him for a moment. “From what we got yesterday, there are qualities – lensing around the edges of the anomaly, energy fluctuations, other constellations – that are characteristic of an Einstein-Rosen bridge.”

“A what?” Darcy and Tony asked together.

“A wormhole,” Jane said. Darcy nodded as if that made more sense. Tony just frowned.

“A… wormhole? That is the stupidest name for a spatial phenomenon I’ve ever heard. I’ve no idea what an Einstein-Rosen is, but the bifröst is, indeed, a bridge between worlds. Perhaps you’re not so far off as I’d thought.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Alright, cut it with the condescending arrogance and we’ll take you out for supper… or maybe breakfast since you just woke up?” She looked Tony over. “And maybe swing by the thrift shop for a change of clothes.”

Tony felt that he was perfectly well-dressed, but Thor could certainly use more than the blue gown he was currently wearing. “Breakfast sounds lovely.”

Thor snorted on a snore and sat up, abruptly awake. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, Brunhilde, your Sigurd has arrived.”

Eric frowned. “You know, as much as I hate to agree with Darcy–”

“ _Hey_!”

“–things like that make it really hard to see you as brothers.”

Tony frowned. “I was alluding to the food.”

“You were alluding to sleeping beauty.”

Thor sat up blearily. “Am I not beautiful?”

“Trick question,” Tony warned them. “So… food?”

Jane nodded slowly, looking between the brothers’ faces. “Food.”


	5. Awkwardness

“That is the third plate of pancakes you’ve devoured,” Darcy said, looking at Thor like he was some kind of… of pancake-eating monster. “Where does it all go?”

Thor had his mouth full, so Tony answered for him. “The food here is very… simple.” As everyone’s eyes narrowed and the head serving wench huffed, insulted, Tony tried to clarify. “I meant no offence. There is no meat, nothing fully satisfying. Just pure sweetness and easily digested grains. Simple. It’s very easy to eat.” That seemed to mollify them. Tony took another sip of the hot, dark, bitter beverage they had called ‘coffee’. “This, on the other hand, is quite intriguing, don’t you think, Thor?”

“Mmm,” Thor agreed, taking a huge gulp and finishing his cup. “I like it.” Jane and Darcy smiled and nodded. Thor threw his mug on the floor, where it shattered satisfyingly. “Another!”

“What the hell, you don’t just – sorry, bit of an accident…” Jane looked beseechingly up at the head wench who seemed moments away from throwing them out. She glared at Thor. “You can’t just do that!”

Thor frowned back, more confused than upset or insulted. “But I liked it. I wanted another.” He sounded like a child. A petulant child.

“Then ask for one! No throwing.”

Tony turned the mug over in his hand. “I fail to see why not. The workmanship is poor. Surely these have no value.”

“They’re $1.50,” the wench said. “And you’re welcome to smash as many as you like, as long as you pay for them.”

Tony had no idea how much $1.50 was. However… “That seems reasonable. My thanks for the clarification.”

Darcy hid her face in her hands. “Oh my god, can we just get out of here? This is a small town, this is the best diner, and I still have to show my face here for at least five more weeks.”

“Are we embarrassing you, Lady Darcy?” Tony asked. “If we’re so much trouble, perhaps we should leave your company, with your questions unanswered.”

“No!” Jane said, her desperation proving to Tony that at least they hadn’t overstepped their bounds past what she was willing to allow them. “No, we… we’ll just leave once Thor is done his pancakes.”

“Mmmhmm-mm,” Thor said, his mouth full. Tony smiled in acceptance and returned to his coffee, adding it to the list of things he would ask about in return for the (general) secrets of the bifröst.

He was just about to ask for another cup (without breaking his current one) when two burly men entered the diner. They were rugged and carried more fat than muscle, but despite their short stature and unkempt hair, they looked closer to Asgardian warriors than anyone else Tony had seen since arriving. He watched them intently.

“The usual, please, Izzy,” one of them demanded, taking a seat by the long table nearest the serving wenches. Tony had thought that the head table, but if that was the quality of person allowed there, likely it was more casual than that. “You missed all the excitement out by the crater.”

“Some kinda satellite crashed in the desert last night,” his companion added.

“Last night?” Tony asked, quietly, mostly to himself.

Jane, on the other hand, had no compunction about addressing her question more directly. “A satellite crash?”

They turned to her, their eyes lighting up as they realized they had the attention of an attractive young lady. “Sure thing. Fell from the sky, all covered in technoscribbles, heavier’n any man that tried to lift it.”

“Well,” Tony said. “That does make some things simpler.”

Thor ignored him, pushing aside his plate and making his way towards the men. They didn’t look intimidated – perhaps it was the way Thor was dressed, in loose clothing that hid his impressive strength. He grabbed the first man’s jacket, to ensure he had his attention when he demanded the exact location. Tony noticed the way Jane’s eyes widened, and realized that Thor was misstepping again, somehow.

The man himself didn’t seem overly discomforted. “It’s about fifty miles east of town.” Thor turned to leave. “But I wouldn’t bother! Looked like the entire army was setting up when we left.”

Tony grinned. “That should make it easier to find.”

“What?” Jane asked.

Tony stood to follow his brother, who was waiting impatiently by the door. “I’m afraid our time together will be shorter than I expected, my lady. My brother has a hammer to retrieve, and we have our own world to return to. But the bifröst has led us here once, and I’m sure I can sweet-talk Heimdall into allowing me back here, to resume our discussions once everything on Asgard has settled down.”

“Asgard?” Erik asked. “You’re not…”

“Tony!” Thor interrupted. “Come!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “The Mighty Thor beckons.” He bowed slightly to Jane and her friends. “It was a pleasure getting to know you.”

“The hammer that you’re seeking,” Erik said, grabbing onto Tony’s arm. “It’s not Mjölnir, is it?”

“Of course it is,” Thor said. “We will retrieve her from the American army and be on our way.” He beamed. “A fitting final battle.”

“No it isn’t!” Jane protested. “You can’t just take things from the military.” She turned on Erik. “And how do you know so much about this?”

Eric looked very grave. “It’s the legends I grew up with; Thor and Mjölnir, Heimdall and Asgard and the bifröst… They’re not just crazy, Jane, they’re delusional.”

“But they promised us information…”

Tony smiled. He quite liked Lady Jane’s fixation on getting her information. A true detective, a true mind of science. “If you transport us in your chariot, I would be more than happy to continue our conversation along the way.” He didn’t mind walking, but any distance with just Thor for a companion was likely to devolve into tales of valour and one-upmanship, which got old fast.

Jane grabbed her notebook and her jacket.

“Jane, wait.” Erik grabbed her arm and lowered his voice, although Tony could still hear them, quite clearly. “It’s not safe.”

“I’m just giving them a lift.”

“They’re dangerous, Jane.”

Jane looked like she wanted to retort, but something outside the diner grabbed her attention. “Hey, that’s my stuff!”

Tony watched, bemused, as she pushed past Thor and ran after a large black vehicle, laden with equipment and computers.

Tony frowned. The only world he knew of that used (or needed to use) computers was Midgard.

Thor shot Tony a look and shrugged, racing off after Jane. Tony shook off the weird suspicions and feelings, and grinned – never let it be said that Thor was unwilling to be distracted from a quest by new challenges.

They raced towards Jane’s laboratory and Tony got his first glimpse of the tools of Jane Foster’s science.

He wasn’t impressed.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jane demanded. There were several men, all with close-cropped hair and in similar attire, going through her files and equipment. Military, no doubt. Tony and Thor each wordlessly took a side, laying claim to around a half-dozen targets each, should the situation turn violent.

One of the men approached Jane. “Ms. Foster, I’m Agent Coulson with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“I don’t care who you work for, you can’t just do this.”

Selvig pulled Jane aside. “Jane, this is more serious than you realize. Let it go.”

Tony and Thor exchanged looks. None of the military men had made any threatening gestures. Indeed, Agent, son of Coul, seemed more conciliatory than anything else. But Selvig was more intimidated by them than he had been by Thor and Tony, whose reputations he seemed to know.

Tony stepped up, deliberately provocative. “You’d be better off telling the sun not to shine, Lady Jane. This man is not his own – he answers to a higher master, once he fears and dreads to disappoint.” Tony shook his head, sadly. “He has no more choice in this matter than you, a mere pawn in someone else’s game.”

“Thank you for understanding, sir.”

Tony quickly re-evaluated Agent Coulson. Clearly, he was a man with no pride to be nettled. He turned his attention to the equipment. “These were your tools for measuring the bifröst?” He clucked his tongue. “I’m amazed you were able to manage _anything_ with these primitive devices.”

“I made most of them myself!” Jane snapped. “And they found you, didn’t they?”

Coulson was talking quickly and quietly into a hand-held communicator of some kind, but Tony continued putting on as much of a show as he could. “They’re toys. Trinkets, at best. Nothing worthwhile could possibly come from them.” He caught a glimpse of some pictures – him and Thor lit up and surrounded by the energy of the bifröst, Asgard’s constellations in the center of the bifröst’s void. Beside them were equations and graphs, treasures of empirical proof and extrapolated data, captured with technology that was truly, laughably, simple.

Jane Foster had done brilliant work within her limitations. Tony regretted that they couldn’t have more time together.

“Sir.” Agent Coulson placed a hand on Tony’s arm. “We’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”

“What?” Jane switched from furious to protective in a heartbeat. “You can’t just _abduct_ people. He has rights!”

Coulson looked at her. “If he is who we think he is, he doesn’t actually. And you’ll find, Ms. Foster, that we have a surprising amount of leeway when investigating threats that fall under our purview.” He turned back to Tony. “Please. Don’t make this any harder on yourselves than it has to be.”

For the first time, the solders started brandishing their weapons, and Tony felt like a total idiot. The computers should have been a dead giveaway, but the guns the men carried clinched it.

They were on Earth. Midgard. Home of the most barbaric and insular creatures in the Nine Realms. A world so prejudicial, it had been banned from not only travel, but knowledge of the other eight worlds it was connected to. A people so violent and ruthless that the essence of their magic had been stripped away.

And Tony was unarmed, and Thor was mortal, and they were surrounded.

Tony raised his hands. “I will come with you, of course. But please, do not harm these Midgardians for taking me in. They are your people, and were only acting in ignorant compassion.”

“They’ll be safe,” Agent Coulson promised. “In fact, I’ll reimburse them for their troubles.” He held out a piece of paper to Jane. “This should compensate you for your equipment and any loss of time.”

“And what will compensate me for losing _him_?” Jane demanded.

Coulson smiled apologetically. “We’re the good guys, Ms. Foster. If he’s not a threat, you can have him back.” He didn’t seem too hopeful about that prospect, however.

“You can’t just… _Thor_ , do something!”

Tony shot his brother a look. Thor could be trusted to follow his lead about half the time, as long as he caught Tony’s signals. Of course, the other half of the time he went off on his own, usually making a mess of things (or at least making things a lot more interesting) thinking that his way was the better way. So far, he had been admirably docile, but this was Mjölnir at risk, and Thor was more possessive about his hammer than most men were of their wives.

Thor looked back at Tony, clearly unhappy. “We should remain here, Ms. Foster, and wait.” He’d even managed to pick up the Midgardian form of address. Tony sighed in relief, and promised himself he would thank Thor later. Hopefully Thor wouldn’t figure out who their hosts really were until he got his hammer back and everything returned to normal.

Thor didn’t take well to being lied to, and wasn’t likely to handle the news that their new friends were the same type of Midgardians who nearly killed one of their best friends as a babe. Ignorance would be their greatest protection, now that Tony couldn’t defend them.

Although, following behind Agent Coulson, allowing himself to be handcuffed, Tony wasn’t sure why he was so intent on defending them. He’d been deceived as well, trusting in these people under the impression that they were ‘Americans’ and not the vicious people of Midgard. As kind and reasonable as the Lady Jane had been, as flattering and charming as the Lady Darcy had been, and as level-headed and appropriately cautious as Erik Selvig had been, they were still Midgardians.

And so were the warriors Tony was accompanying.

And he had no reason to feel protective of _them_.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

The first breakthrough, embarrassingly enough, was Ivaldi’s.

“Do you know how the Casket and the Tesseract and Mjölnir hold in the energy that they do?”

Loki looked up from where his collected energy had dissipated once again, frustrated and impatient. “I hardly want to talk about it now, Ivaldi. I am trying to prove myself a useful ally to the Realm that may just overthrow Asgard for us all. I’m a little distracted for idle conversation at the moment.”

“It’s hardly idle, and you can’t start focusing your energy for a while in any case,” Ivaldi said reasonably. “So while you’re recovering, consider this – all the greatest and most powerful treasures in all the Realms have one thing in common?”

“Dwarven make?” Loki guessed.

Ivaldi grinned. “Generally, but not all. What _all_ of them share is simply this; a physical form. A focus. You are capable of amassing impressive amounts of magic outside your own physical form and maintaining it through will power and careful manipulation of the elements. But air is too transient to hold such power for long, and your will is not eternal.”

Loki flexed his fingers as the feeling returned to them. It was true – working pure magic into physical form was difficult, but he’d managed it more than once before. To imbue a physical object with magic was an entirely different skill set and required that the physical object was just as pure and perfect as the magic itself.

He would have to start again, retrain himself, but… “It’s a workable solution.”

Ivaldi brought Loki one of the cooling charms, with the runes worn off by rubbing it against the walls. Loki raised an eyebrow. “Been planning this for a while?”

“Just keeping all options open,” Ivaldi said. “It’s as important for my survival as for yours.”

“Hmm…” Loki traced his fingers around the edge of the charm, getting a feel for the well-balanced alloy and smoothed surface. It would hold enough magic for a strong protection or shielding spell, a key to a dimensional hold, a cooling spell (naturally), a repository for messages in the form of holograms… All passive spells. Loki dropped it to the bench and let himself slump back, still drained from his last attempt.

Ivaldi cocked his head. “No good?”

“Stop talking, I’m exhausted,” Loki said rather than answering. It was a good idea, but unfortunately, for the power than Malekith needed, it was only an idea. Unless Malekith had a lump of uru metal from a newly dead star, or a small mountain’s worth of vibranium, they didn’t even have the basic ingredients for a weapon powerful enough to meet his requirements.

And then there was the problem of moulding the metal into a form appropriate to hold Loki’s energy. Even the greatest smiths, working at the greatest smithies, would have found such an endeavour challenging.

Ivaldi settled himself next to Loki. “King Malekith has been remarkably patient. You know this can’t continue forever.”

“You’re still talking.”

“Loki-king, you’re draining yourself and gaining nothing. This isn’t sustainable. Should King Malekith lose his patience, you’re in no condition to even defend yourself.”

Loki laughed. “He took me from my own people, wrenched me from my own magics, and captured me without alerting any of my guards. I am _fully_ aware that I am currently, and will likely be for some time, at King Malekith’s mercy.” He cracked open one eye. “And unless you want to find out _exactly_ how much energy I have left, that’s the last you’ll speak of it.”

“You’re not particularly good with allies, are you?”

“I know when not to provoke them.”

Ivaldi sighed. “You need rest, proper sleep. Let me help you to your bed.”

Loki wanted to wave off his offer of help, but he really was too fatigued to make it to the small area padded with most the clothes he and Ivaldi had been wearing which was their ‘bed’. Loki used it more often, exhausted by his attempts to create his magical artefact and by the curses etched into his chest, while Ivaldi used it only while Loki was focusing and wasn’t able to be soothed with a cooling spell or distracting conversation.

Once Loki was lying down, Ivaldi pressed a hand to his forehead, over the markings that declared him a member of the royal family of Jötunheim. The gesture was calming and comforting, and Loki smiled.

“You must have made a good father.”

Ivaldi stood. “Great praise from the only son of Jötunheim.”

Loki rolled his eyes, but his smile never faded as he fell into a deep, restorative sleep.

He was toying with the charm the next day, seeing which energies went in smoothly and easily, and which had to be forced, and which would never be compatible no matter how hard he tried, when the dark elves burst into the room.

It wasn’t time for their daily meal, and there were more than usual, and more than usually upset.

Loki placed the charm to the side and waited, with all the polite expectation of a king at court.

As soon as the dark elves were certain the room was secure, Algrim walked in, placing himself between Loki and Ivaldi, and…

“King Malekith.” Loki forced himself to stand, not wanting to insult Malekith in this place. At least, not yet. “Truly, this is an honour.”

Malekith smiled. “It has been too long, Loki. I’m sorry we had to meet again like this, but you were the only hope I had of securing enough power to challenge Asgard.” He moved past Algrim, close enough to reach out and brush his fingers against Loki’s cheek. “And all know of your love for Asgardians.”

“The Allfather saved me from Midgard,” Loki said. “I owe him my life.” Malekith’s hand froze, and Loki leaned into it, slightly, allowing his eyes to drop shut. “But I can no longer think only in terms of my own wants, my own feelings. I must move in whatever way best serves Jötunheim.” He looked at Malekith, through heavy, half-closed eyelids. “And if I can harness this power for you, and I believe I can, Jötunheim is best served if I…” Malekith’s hand slid lower, over Loki’s neck, his clavicle. Loki let his voice drop. “…moved with you.”

Malekith laughed, pushing away from Loki. “A king, debasing himself like a whore?”

“ _Like_ a whore?” Loki repeated, incredulously. “Is there any word that better describes a young king? Is that not why you, and I, remain unmarried? So that even our beds may serve our people.”

“I don’t need to sleep my way to power,” Malekith snapped.

Loki snorted. “Well, I do. Or, rather, I needed to. Jötunheim has always been lesser than Asgard and Vanaheim, despite the fact that we were the first, that all other races descended from us, we have been consistently treated like lesser beings. I walk freely amongst the glittering throng only under glamour, and am seen as a freak or an amusement when I show my true self. I give thanks that Freya is already wed and the children of Asgard are both sons and not even Odin would ask that I abase myself as the lesser party in such a marriage. As long as Asgard rules the Nine Realms, I need to prove myself and my people worthy over and over again, and for what?”

“For the right to be mocked when your back is turned,” Malekith said, clearly projecting, but close enough to the truth that Loki nodded. “For the right to be cast aside as an embarrassment when convenient.”

“For the privilege of bowing to idiots,” Loki snarled. “To earn the company of small-minded, petty fools.”

Their eyes met, a moment of true understanding, and then Loki looked away. “I know why you couldn’t have come to me with such a plan. I would have been a poor friend indeed, to Thor and Tony, if not to Asgard herself, if I had allied myself with you against them.” His fists were clenched, and he had to ease them open. “But nothing lasts forever, and I admit that the idea of seeing Asgard humbled within my lifetime… _appeals_ to me.”

Malekith turned away, clearly liking what he heard, but unwilling to take it at face value. Loki had to admit, that was fair enough.

Particularly since Loki was lying. Well, mostly.

Malekith turned on Ivaldi. “Your failure up to this point hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

Ivaldi cast his gaze to the ground. “What we are attempting has never been done, My King. There have been… false starts. But we are progressing.”

“You are a distraction,” Malekith said. “And you are no longer needed for Loki-king’s wellbeing.” He gestured and two of the dark elves flanked Ivaldi, pushing him down to his knees. “A handful of cooling charms could take your place.”

Malekith raised his hand and Loki realized how horrid this place would be completely on his own, cooling charms or no.

“Perhaps Loki-king could use an incentive to keep his focus.”

Loki stumbled forward. “No, wait.”

Malekith raised an eyebrow, in a parody of patience. Ivaldi looked up and Loki remembered the pain on his face when Algrim had activated the runes on his chest. He remembered Ivaldi’s cool hands on his chest, his gentle touch on Loki’s forehead. “I need him.”

Everyone’s eyes were on him now, waiting. Loki set his jaw. “I need him and I need a forge.”

“Oh?” Malekith asked. “For what?”

“A focus, a container,” Loki said. Malekith, or one of his underlings at least, had been listening to every word Loki and Ivaldi had said. He knew exactly what Loki felt he needed. “The charms won’t hold the right kind of energy. I need something else, something purer and more powerful. And someone to forge it into a useful carrier.”

Malekith gestured and Ivaldi was released. “Would Mithril do?”

“Mithril…” It was perfect. A ‘cool’ metal, it required incredibly low temperatures to become brittle. On the other hand, heating it until it became properly and usefully malleable took significant energy. “You are aware that just because I’m instilling the power of Jötunheim into this object, it’s not all going to be ice.”

“I am aware, Loki Fire-bringer. You will find Mithril to be the equal to any other material for this task.”

Loki nodded. It was a good fit, a suitable fit. “Then by the time the forges are ready and the Mithril available, I will have the designs ready for Ivaldi to start working.”

“I have other smiths,” Malekith said casually, and two of the dark elf guards brought their weapons up to Ivaldi’s neck. “There is no need for it to be this one.”

“He’s touched my magic,” Loki said. “And he’s shared his with me. There is no other as appropriate or efficient as Ivaldi. Besides,” he smiled, “this is why you had him brought here, isn’t it?”

Malekith laughed. “Oh, Loki-king. From a distance, you always seemed so sharp-eyed and perceptive. It’s rather disappointing to see you here, like this.” He waved off his guards. “Have your smith. Your smithy will be ready by tomorrow, and I expect to see something useable the day after, understood?”

Loki bowed. “Of course, King Malekith.”


	6. Plotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's where the graphic descriptions of violence occur, FYI.

The forges were already set up near enough to Loki and Ivaldi’s cave that it was easier to enlarge the cave itself by knocking down a few walls to give Ivaldi access to the forges. The heat, which had never been pleasant, was starting to get overwhelming for Loki, and the air was thick with the scent and taste of melting metals and the ash and soot that were the byproducts of generating that much heat.

Nevertheless, he managed to sketch out what he wanted from Ivaldi.

Ivaldi looked up at Loki from his designs, eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve had days to work this through, Ivaldi. King Malekith is quite right, the Mithril will work well. All you need to do is follow my instructions perfectly with no errors, and it will work.”

Loki’s voice was steady and confident, betraying none of the anxiety he felt. This was the point of no return. Up until now, they could have continued their pretence at service Malekith and his goals, they could have even switched gears and started actively serving Malekith and his goals. But the moment Loki handed Ivaldi his plans, that was no longer an option.

And now one of two things would happen; either Ivaldi would turn Loki in, showing all the ways he was planning on working against King Malekith, or he would turn towards the forges and join Loki in his bid to escape.

Ivaldi looked at Loki for a long moment, then back at the designs, then back at Loki. He sighed. “I suppose I’d better get started then.”

Loki released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The past few days of study and slowly draining himself were all worth it.

Now the real work could begin.

He and Ivaldi had gone over each other’s bodies carefully, looking for any runes carved or etched into any other parts of them. Loki had only had them covering his chest, while Ivaldi had runes over his chest, palms, and the soles of his feet. Loki had spent hours ‘resting’, tracing over the runes and seemingly decorative etchings that hid deeper and more complex spells. He knew what was carved into him intimately, in detail, and even the foreign runes had a pattern that spoke to him.

The most important spell wasn’t the one that kept his magic moving sluggishly or the one that kept him in this form or even the one that trapped him in these caves.

The most important spell was the elvish one that Loki realized stopped him from healing the scars of the other spells. Normally, his chest would have healed seamlessly by now, and the spells would have disappeared with the runes. It was the elvish runes that Loki needed to negate, and he knew how – he’d even managed it, scratching the appropriately negating runes into his chest and feeling his strength and vitality returning.

Unfortunately, the first thing his body healed was the negating runes, and the curses and spells returned full force.

At first, Loki had thought that he didn’t have the power to maintain the force behind the runes, but then he realized the real limitation was that there were too many layers to Malekith’s spells. He’d had the time to make everything exactly as he’d wanted, and the ability to plan around Loki’s abilities. Loki didn’t have either of those luxuries, but he did have a few things on his side.

The first was that Malekith had underestimated him. Everyone underestimated Loki, that was how he’d managed as much as he had. It was a strange position for a king to be in, but it had worked so well when Loki had been a prince and ambassador that he just continued with it. He was sure Odin knew there was more to him, but was more amused by Loki’s games than upset. The other kings, including Freyr and even Malekith and Surtur, just saw Loki as a young upstart, a prince forced into his position too early, only partially trained, too unprepared. It didn’t help that Loki’s strongest and most important alliances were with Tony and Thor, both princes themselves.

Loki had never been more grateful to be underestimated than he was now.

The second thing was that Loki had Ivaldi on his side. Loki’s request was simple enough to follow, but difficult to follow perfectly. And any mistake, however small, would ruin everything. Ivaldi hadn’t bragged about his own skill, a trait unusual in a dwarf (or Asgardian, for that matter), but he’d bragged enough about his sons that Loki was certain that he had the skill needed. Likewise Loki hadn’t mentioned his reserves of power, that he wasn’t nearly as drained as he’d seemed.

There was a great deal that needed to remain unspoken but understood between them.

Loki hoped that he had placed his trust in someone who wouldn’t betray him or fail him, but he kept this as his comfort: He had just enough power that he could discharge through the limitations and curses placed on him to take Ivaldi out, if not to defend himself from the fallout of Ivaldi’s betrayal.

But he didn’t think he would have to. Ivaldi had a daughter and a set of sons to return to. He would have Loki and Jötunheim’s protection once they escaped, and the resources to take his own revenge. If he was close to his sons, Loki could even look forward to incredible newly forged weapons. If Iðunn could forgive Loki for his past mischief and stood beside her father, they could strengthen their forces with her apples. If, if, if…

Loki was getting ahead of himself.

He had most of the day to himself while Ivaldi worked, double checking his work, making sure that his designs would work. It was too late to make any changes, and the heat made it difficult to concentrate, but it was better than just baking and waiting.

It must have been hours later when Ivaldi shook him awake, his gentle hands rough from his day’s work.

“It’s time.”

Loki nodded. Ivaldi had left the Mithril in the forge, still white-hot. If there was any doubt that Ivaldi hadn’t understood Loki’s wishes, they vanished in that instant.

The glow hurt Loki’s eyes. He looked away. “Then we should get started.”

Ivaldi needed to help Loki as they moved closer to the forges, as the heat threatened to overwhelm him. “Are you sure about this?” Ivaldi asked again.

“I’m certain,” Loki assured him. “Don’t stop, no matter what I say, no matter how loud I scream or how fervently I beg.”

Ivaldi looked troubled. “I’ve heard of Frost Giants dying from less than this.”

“I’ve seen it,” Loki said, and he had. Only once, but it was enough to ingrain itself indelibly in his mind. “If you’ve a better plan, I’m willing to hear it.”

Ivaldi shook his head and sat Loki down against a wall. “How do you want this?”

“Counterclockwise, starting here.” Loki pointed to just above his left nipple, where the restraining spell ended and the anti-healing spell started spiralling. “Just touching, but not overlapping.” Ivaldi nodded and turned to go. Loki grabbed his arm. “Leave it there long enough for it to take. If you show mercy, if you hold back, this will all be for naught.”

“I understand,” Ivaldi said. Loki released him and tried to relax, letting the heat roll over him, smothering him, nearly suffocating him.

If he’d thought that the loss of focus from the heat would have helped, he was wrong.

Ivaldi took the first piece of Mithril out of the fire. For all the mythical metals at his disposal, Ivaldi had used nothing more than simple carbide, a carbon-tungsten compound, with graphite ends that tapered into diamonds for the tips. As hot as the Mithril got, it was manipulatable with those tools, strung together with magic and engineering. It was a simple, everyday feat of technology and enchantment, but it was one that had allowed Ivaldi to manipulate the Mithril into the intricate patterns that Loki had needed, one that allowed him to remove the Mithril from the forge still white-hot, one that allowed him the fine motor control as he placed the Mithril on Loki’s chest, exactly where Loki had indicated.

It seared. What hit Loki first wasn’t the pain, although that came soon after and with a vengeance, but the stench. The flesh of most creatures, as it burned, smelled like a particularly nasty variety of pork. Jötunn, on the other hand, smelled like charred fish. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, in moderation.

As the Mithril burnt through Loki’s skin, through his muscle, resting on his bare ribs and scorching the bone, the stench was far from moderate. As was the pain. The cauterizing effects of the burning metal should have helped but, again, Loki was a Frost Giant, and fire and heat were his greatest weaknesses.

It hurt. Beyond anything Loki had ever experienced, beyond anything he had ever imagined, beyond anything he’d ever thought possible. He screamed and pled and wept and blacked out and came back and screamed some more. Ivaldi watched him writhing, watched as his entire form contorted with agony, and did nothing to soothe or help him. Loki cursed him, called him every unthinkable thing he could think up, as well as a good many nonsensical things as he lost track of the words the moment they were out of his mouth.

That didn’t last long, however, as the pain soon overwhelmed Loki’s ability to even form words, then syllables, than anything but an animalistic, desperate screeching. Ivaldi continued to ignore him, but his expression betrayed how difficult it was.

And then it was over. Loki panted as Ivaldi removed the Mithril, now glowing a dull red and covered in the charred remains of part of Loki’s chest and ribs. Loki’s body tried to heal the wound, but it had been caused by the kind of heat that flirted with suns, forged with the magic of a skilled dwarven smith. Even without the anti-healing wounds still intact, Loki’s body would never have managed it. He would have this scar for the rest of his natural life. Ivaldi had done well.

Ivaldi was far from done. When he picked up the second piece, Loki managed to nod through his agony, holding still for it and managing to remain still for almost five seconds before the pain drove him mad.

He didn’t fight the third piece either, or the fourth, but when Ivaldi removed the fifth, Loki begged him to stop, at least for a moment, to allow him some rest.

“I can’t. We don’t have time, Loki. King Malekith…”

The rest of Ivaldi’s words were lost to Loki’s screaming as Ivaldi pressed the fifth piece on his chest.

After that, Loki tried to fight. Weak and in agony, he still managed to keep Ivaldi from placing the sixth piece simply by refusing to hold still as the Mithril lost heat. Ivaldi had to place it back in the forge and take a break to bind Loki to a rock, his pelvis and throat covered in heavy chains to keep him from wriggling away. By the time the eighth piece was removed, Loki was still again, whimpering softly, but no longer fighting.

“Loki?” Ivaldi said, after the eighth piece was removed. “Answer me.”

Loki moaned quietly, his eyelashes fluttering as he tried to open his eyes. Ivaldi cursed lightly and put aside his tools, pressing his filthy fingers against Loki’s eyes and letting what little cooling magic he had left run through them.

The red slit as Loki’s eyes opened a crack was all the comfort Ivaldi could take before continuing. Any moment they could be caught, and Loki was in no state to handle any kind of threat. This wasn’t the time for kindness or compassion. It was a time for pure practicality. He took the ninth and final Mithril piece from the fire and, ignoring the frightened sounds that caught in Loki’s throat, pressed in to his skin, just barely touching the edges of the scar from the eighth piece and the first scar.

The ring created by the new scars glowed as brightly as the Mithril in Loki’s chest, forming a ring of powerful protective and strengthening runes, as well as blessings that could overrule any curses. Loki’s back arched, dislodging even the heavy chains holding him down, and the glow suffused his whole body, from head to toe, in a pure white light that shone from the tips of his fingers and toes, out his eyes and mouth, and pulsed with power.

Ivaldi stumbled back. This was it. This would either destroy Loki completely, or make him into something more powerful than he had ever been before.

The clatter of rattling chains as they fell away from Loki’s body covered the sound of the dark elves entering the forge, but their surprised cries rang true to his ears. Loki was suspended now, hovering less than a hand’s breadth over the rock Ivaldi had bound him to, still glowing, but not doing anything conscious, unable to defend Ivaldi or himself.

Which left matters up to Ivaldi.

“Remember your promises, Loki-king, and keep faith with them, better than you kept faith with Malekith.” Ivaldi brandished his forge prongs and short hammer. “I’ll buy you enough time to recover.”

He was hopelessly outmatched. There were a half-dozen dark elves, warriors and mages both, and they had come prepared for battle. Ivaldi didn’t need to win, however, he just needed to keep them away from Loki long enough for the magic to take hold and for Loki to return to his full true powers.

As long as Loki had chosen the right runes. As long as Ivaldi had reproduced them perfectly. As long as everything had gone exactly to plan.

There was no point in planning for failure. No matter what, Ivaldi had sealed his fate, and holding anything back now would, at best, delay the inevitable. He gave a roar approximating a battle cry and leapt into the fray, surprising the first few dark elves, and managing to land a few non-fatal hits.

It did what it needed to do – it turned the dark elves’ attention towards him and away from Loki, but it couldn’t last. None of the blows were sufficient to fell Ivaldi, but it wasn’t long until he was disarmed and grounded, held down by two of the dark elves while the other four turned their attention to Loki.

Far too late.

Loki was no longer suspended. There was no more pure white power surrounding him. The runes burnt into his chest were dark and angry-looking, but nothing compared to the expression on his face.

Loki, while not Asgardian, had earned the title of God – God of Mischief, God of Lies, God of Fire, God of Chaos. Standing in front of the dark elves, he looked every inch the deity he claimed to be.

“Your master’s spell is broken. You will be the first of my messages to him.”

To their credit, they tried. The mages threw everything they had, holding no dark magics in reserve; the warriors flanked him and attacked full out, some of the deadliest assassins in the Nine Realms.

Loki absorbed every attack without flinching, the magic either glancing off him or being absorbed into him somehow, replenishing his depleted stores. The physical attacks seemed to be doing more, but although the sharp blades managed to cut into his flesh, the wounds didn’t last past their infliction. Loki seemed impervious, invulnerable. It may not have been true, but it was intimidating enough that the dark elves backed away, not yet formally retreating, but definitely too hesitant to attack.

“Ah. My turn now.”

Loki raised a hand and gestured to the three elves furthest away from Ivaldi. They had just enough time to ready whatever defences they had before a powerful frost shot from Loki’s palm, instantly freezing the three of them in place. Their eyes were still open, their weapons still at the ready, but even the pervasive heat of the forges couldn’t touch the unnatural ice that encased them.

The remaining elves turned and ran, including the two holding Ivaldi down. He didn’t move, closing his eyes as Loki raised his other hand and gestured towards them.

Loki might have been a Frost Giant, but he’d been born amidst the chaos and magic of an all out war between Jötunheim and Midgard. He had mastery over not only ice and cold, but heat and fire, to the point that he had been given that as one of his godly titles. There were those who spoke of his power as foretelling Jötunheim’s doom, those who spoke of it foretelling its rise, and Frigga, the Allmother, who simply reminded everyone that Loki was a babe and she looked unkindly upon those who killed infants without a good, clear reason. Loki had been allowed to live, and his power had only grown.

It was at its fullest here, as the remaining dark elves were simply incinerated by his casual gesture.

Ivaldi gasped as he tried to pull himself up, to face Loki one last time. Loki crouched down beside him as he collapsed again. “Don’t bother. I’ll transport you to Jötunheim with me and we’ll have the healers there take a look at your injuries.”

Ivaldi laughed, a broken sound. “My injuries. Loki-king, take a good look yourself.” Loki frowned. “This isn’t blood. None of it.”

“Ichor.” Loki’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “What are you?”

“You need to ask?” Ivaldi retorted. “I’ve been here for decades, watching over Malekith’s prisoners. Honestly, I’ve lost track of time.”

“Your sons?”

“No doubt pleased to be rid of me. I was an unkind man, and a demanding father. I’d never done them any good while alive, but at least your promise will mean I’ve done something for them after my death.”

Loki smirked coldly. “My promise? I have no need to be bound to any oath given to a _haugbui_. Only when I’ve found your corpse and laid you properly to rest will my promise bind me to my word.”

Ivaldi laughed again, a stronger, healthier sound as his undead body knitted itself back together. “I look forward to that day, Loki-king. Until then, keep yourself safe.”

Loki nodded and stood. “I will return. With powerful magic, with armies, with allies, with _Gods_ , and I will have my revenge.” He glared down at Ivaldi. “And you will find your place in Hel.”

“Oh.” Ivaldi closed his eyes and smiled. “What a relief that would be.”

By the time he opened them, Loki had disappeared.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

The moment Tony was out of their sight, Jane turned on Thor. “What are you _thinking_? That was your brother, and you just let some government thugs take him?”

“Tony knows what he is doing,” Thor said, confidently. “…I hope.” That last bit was somewhat less confident.

“I don’t think he does,” Selvig disagreed. “I mean, S.H.I.E.L.D. is… bad news if they don’t consider you an ally.”

Off to the side, Darcy gave a small scream of migled surprise and rage. The three of them broke off their conversation and rushed to her side. “Lady Darcy!” Thor was the first to arrive. “What ails thee?”

“They took my iPod!” Darcy said, her voice filled with furious disbelief. “My _iPod_.”

“What monsters,” Jane deadpanned.

Thor frowned. “Monsters… Tony spoke of Midgardians.”

“Tony spoke of a lot of things,” Jane said. “Does he often try to talk his way out of situations with nonsense?”

“On occasion. Generally, his tongue gets him in more trouble than it saves him from,” Thor said. “Nevertheless, you are not Midgardians, are you?” He seemed eager to have his suspicions allayed.

Darcy snorted. “That sounds like some Star Wars thing. Wasn’t that what made Anakin a superspecial Jedi?”

“That was midi-chlorians,” Jane, expert on all things Star Wars, corrected. “And we’re not… either of those things. Obviously.” Selvig laughed nervously. “We’re victims of government oppression, is what we are.”

Thor nodded, his grin returning full force. “Then I shall fight as your champion. For your possessions and for my brother, the Army of America will answer to Thor!”

“That’s marvellous,” Selvig said. “You’re a true hero, Thor. We wish you luck.”

Thor inclined his head. “Thank you, Erik Selvig. Your good wishes are most appreciated.” He turned to leave, his back straight, his chin level, every inch a determined man with no hesitation in him.

Then he turned back. “…do any of you know where I might find the Army?”

Jane looked pleadingly at Selvig. “I’ll just drive him. I won’t even get out of the van.”

“Jane…” Selvig sighed. “No. I’m sorry, but you don’t understand that this isn’t the IRS or the Marines. This is S.H.I.E.L.D., and they don’t kill people, they make them disappear or they unmake them, like they’d never been.”

Thor was nodding. “The power of the Norns. A worthy foe.”

“Stay away from them. Worse comes to worst, I have contacts who have other contacts. Dr. Pym might be able to help,” Selvig said to Jane before turning to Thor. “Drop by if you get out, okay?”

“I will.” He nodded to them once again. “I will return to the diner to acquire further information.”

Jane waited until Selvig’s back was turned before slipping out after Thor.

“Wait!” Thor was walking, but not towards the diner. Jane sighed. If he couldn’t navigate a few blocks of a small town, how did he plan to travel fifty miles of desert? “I’ll give you a lift.”

Thor frowned. “Your guardian seemed insistent upon you staying behind.”

“Erik’s not my guardian, he’s my friend,” Jane said, gesturing towards the van. “And I promise it’ll be quicker this way, with less dying of exposure.” Thor still looked hesitant. “Look, we both want the same thing – my stuff and your brother back. I’m trying to help.”

That seemed to convince Thor. “Very well, Jane Foster. But first we must go retrieve Mjölnir.”

“Alright, okay.” Jane took a deep breath and steadied herself. It was easy enough to rush into things without thinking of the consequences, with the heat of indignant fury and outrage, but the longer they waited the less of a good idea it seemed. “We have to get moving before Erik catches us.”

Thor nodded and climbed into the passenger seat of the van. Jane tried to keep the engine from revving too loudly before they made their escape, but she still caught Erik and then Darcy running out of the lab in her rearview mirror. She switched off her cell phone.

“I hope I don’t regret this.”

“Worry not, Jane Foster. Even if we fall in battle, we will find our places in Valhalla and our people will sing of us for centuries to come.”

Jane bit her lip and stared out into the desert with the sun setting at her back. Fifty miles away, into the darkening sky, an army waited for her.

“Who am I kidding, I regret this already.” She turned to Thor, who was watching her with an expectant and oddly gentle expression. As frightened as she was becoming, she still found herself wanting to believe in him, for no good reason. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Have you?”

Thor nodded. “Many times.” He smiled, and Jane felt her pulse jump. “You’re brave to do it. And clever, far more clever than anyone else in this Realm.”

Jane snorted. “Why do you talk like that? Tony does sometimes too.”

“You think us strange?” Thor asked, his grin now wide and amused.

“Oh, definitely,” Jane assured him.

If anything, Thor’s grin widened. “Good strange or bad strange?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” Jane admitted. “But I’m driving you to a secret military base, so that says something, I suppose.”

Thor nodded, clearly satisfied. “You trust easily, but well. You will not be disappointed, Jane Foster.”

His utter confidence was contagious. “Yeah. After all, they already have everything important. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Indeed.”

This time, they laughed together, and it sounded natural and genuine.


	7. Disappointed

It didn’t take long for the novelty of being captured by Midgardians to wear thin for Tony. At first, the ridiculously simple handcuffs they placed around his wrists were enough to amuse, and the variety of technology was entertaining.

The vehicles, for instance. Jane’s van had been white, clearly painted as there was enough paint that had peeled off to reveal the metal beneath, some of it rusted. It made a significant amount of noise and felt every bump and dip in the road as sensitively as a poorly designed carriage.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles, on the other hand, were uniformly black, with no evidence of the metal they were constructed from. Their ride was far smoother, and Loki could sit back comfortably as he was ferried to whatever holding cell they had planned for him. Still, the variety of shapes and sizes was significant, although most of them were box-shaped like Jane’s van, only more elegantly designed on the outside.

The insides were even more interesting. Tony didn’t have an unconscious Thor to worry about, so he entertained himself by working out what each of the indicators and dials in the vehicles were for. He figured out the radio, then the heating/cooling system, then the automatic locks, the external signals, the window wipers, the internal and external lights, the odometer and the speedometer, the fuel and temperature gauges, the sonar and radar sensors, and the power seats.

“Clever,” Tony said, making Agent Coulson turn towards him. “You’ve designed ways to become even more lazy and complacent. It’s a remarkable investment in effort to reduce future effort.”

“Your disdain is noted.”

Tony laughed. “Nothing could be further from the truth. It’s a testament to your ingenuity, how far you’ve come with only your wits and the laws of physics.” The vehicle accelerated, and Tony felt the gears shift as his mind flew through new and better ways to improve the vehicles. “Have you even gotten off this sorry excuse for a planet?”

Coulson frowned. “We have. There have been several expeditions to–”

“Your moon, ah, that’s right.” Tony smiled and kicked his feet. “But no further. Nearly a century and you’ve stagnated.” He turned his grin on full force directly at Coulson. “Good thing too – don’t want to attract too much attention before you’re ready. Leave the heavens to us, and continue to improve… oh, I see the windows open through mechanical means as well. How nice.”

Coulson didn’t seem to appreciate Tony’s patronising condescension, but didn’t rise to the bait.

That was fine. Tony had not yet begun to bait.

“Where are we headed, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Actually, I do mind,” Coulson said, his voice still mild. “But I doubt that will stop you.”

“Fair enough. On both counts,” Tony admitted. “So, who’s pulling your strings? Who’s the puppet master?”

Coulson’s phone buzzed and he looked down at it, Tony craned his neck to try to see what was written, but Coulson instinctively angled the device out of his line of sight. Tony’s fingers itched to play with it – such a small tool, with such potential…

“I told you, already. We’re with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“That means less than nothing,” Tony said, willing to accept answers, or at least banter, in place of toying with new tech. “Jane and Darcy identified themselves as ‘Americans’. Are you one as well?”

Coulson gave him an odd look, which was only slightly more expressive than his usual bland one. “I am. I work for a division of the American government, whose purview is to keep the nation, and the planet, safe.”

Ah. Things were getting clearer now. The idea of a ‘nation’ and a ‘planet’ being two separate things was strange to Tony, but given how short-lived and numerous the Midgardians were, it made a kind of sense. And, at least, Jane and the others hadn’t actually lied to them. “So am I a hostage to your American government or to humanity at large?”

“You’re a guest,” Coulson said, straight faced and not even batting an eye at Tony’s handcuffs. “If you turn out to be a threat, you’ll become property of S.H.I.E.L.D., which answers to both the American government and a ruling international body.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Needlessly complicated.” An idea occurred. “How would you, as a race, feel about being conquered and ruled by a single power? It would simplify things.”

Coulson just looked at him, as if trying to guess if Tony was joking or not. “…we’re not big fans of being conquered.”

Tony shrugged. “Fair enough. Where are you taking me again?”

Coulson looked out the window as they approached a sprawling grey building, fenced in with guarded entry points. There were other structures, white snaking tents that circled a glassed off area. “We’re here.”

Despite having no idea where ‘here’ was, Tony found himself somewhat excited. Apart from the handcuffs, the Midgardians had been civil enough, and they had no idea who they held hostage. Thor and Lady Jane were still free, to quest for Mjölnir and Jane’s answers. Tony was optimistic by nature, although less so than Thor, and he’d been in far worse positions. As it was, he’d figured out how to escape from his restraints halfway through the trip, and now had a reasonable appreciation for how to operate Midgardian transport. The one regret he had was not getting the chance to play with Coulson’s mobile phone.

He kept the handcuffs on, although unlocked, as he was escorted by Coulson and three of his lackeys inside the strange squat building in the center of the compound. The setting sun cast an orange tinge over everything, and the day started cooling into night. Tony couldn’t help but eagerly anticipate moving up the chain of command and dealing with someone other than Coulson.

Not that Coulson and his stiff upper lip weren’t delightful in their own way. But he was in the sweet spot of high enough to be comfortable interrogating without letting anything slip, and not quite high enough to decide to give up information of his own accord. At this point, anyone else would be preferable.

As they entered the building, Tony decided to push for more details. “Are you taking me to your…” Tony wasn’t sure what their leaders were called here on Midgard. “…person in charge?”

Coulson looked over, smiling slightly. Tony wondered if his anticipation was really that obvious. “No. Director Fury is, unfortunately, elsewhere at the moment. We do, however, have one of the founding members of S.H.I.E.L.D. here, leading one of our investigation teams. I’m reporting to him.”

A founding member. That sounded important enough. “Would this founding member have the authority to share information and grant amnesty?” Tony had traveled to several Realms, and on the rare occasion that his position was in question, it was always best to work towards something neutral like amnesty rather than overshoot for the whole kneel-before-the-prince-of-Asgard thing. That was more Thor’s style, and he had the short temper and strength of arm to back it up.

“Amnesty?” Coulson asked. “Not exactly, but he does have influence.”

“Great, good.” Tony grinned. “I look forward to meeting with him.”

The building was full of men and women in variations of the S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms. They hustled and bustled about as if a chained prisoner being escorted through their halls was nothing out of the ordinary.

Tony liked them immediately, which didn’t mean he didn’t want to play with them as well.

“If you would wait here,” Coulson said, as if it was a suggestion or an invitation. Tony wasn’t an idiot, he knew it was an order.

The room was clear-paned, with something that didn’t resonate like glass. There was one chair, and it didn’t look comfortable. Otherwise, it was completely bare. Behind the room… well, cell, was a fascinating array of computers and screens that caught Tony’s eye and attention like nothing else had in this world. He took a step forward, subconsciously, and didn’t even notice the door clicking closed and locked behind him.

This was why Tony had allowed himself to be captured. He wasn’t self-sacrificing like Thor, he was more driven by self-interest. And Jane’s slap-dash equipment, as ugly and ungainly as it had been, held the potential for what Tony saw before him now. The promise of Midgard, one of the two qualities that made it even with the other Eight Realms, its innovation and technology.

The other quality was that they reproduced like rabbits. But Tony wasn’t interested in that.

Well. He wasn’t _much_ interested in that. At the moment.

What interested Tony was the shiny technology. He’d had to cobble together what he’d needed in Asgard, laying down a foundation on his own in order to build his dreams. He was neither reviled nor understood, as he would have been if he’d found his skill and interest in magic. His toying with technology had been mostly met with mystified appreciation, as he compensated for his weaknesses. But he’d never had the tools, the shortcuts developed by humanity in their generations of trying to compensate for even greater weaknesses. If he’d had colleagues, contemporaries pushing him further, faster, maybe Tony could have dabbled in the information technology as they had.

But he’d always been alone.

Tony removed the handcuffs and placed them on the chair before leaning against the clear barrier and watching the S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers at their work. There was almost too much to take in, and before he knew it, hours had passed and the door to his cell opened again.

He turned around, prepared to make his case for freedom before Thor came and ended any hope of a diplomatic resolution. The moment he turned around, however, all words vanished in the shock of what he saw.

The man was old, likely nearing the end of his mortal life, but the colour of his eyes, the waves in his hair, the lines of his face… It was like looking into a slightly time-and-space-distorted mirror.

“Huh. Thanks for calling me down, Coulson,” the man said, his voice like a wizened timber not dissimilar to Tony’s own voice, before turning to Tony as Coulson closed the door behind him.

“You…” Tony couldn’t think of a way to finish that thought.

The man took pity on him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Howard Stark.”

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

The night deepened as Thor and Jane approached the location the villager had said Mjölnir lay. Thor could feel his blood thrumming in anticipation and he flexed his hands in preparation for the battle ahead.

Jane was focused more on the location itself. “What the hell, they built a _city_ around it?” It was a generous assessment of the barely-lit fenced area surrounding a maze of white tubes leading to a central cubic structure.

Thor shrugged. “They have done more for lesser objects.” Jane was looking through a pair of what she called ‘binoculars’, to enable her to see more clearly over long distances. Thor had tried, but all he’d been able to see were fuzzy lights. “Can you see my brother?”

“No,” Jane answered honestly. “But if I caught a possible alien, this is exactly where I’d bring it.” She winced and corrected herself. “Him.” She looked at Thor. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Thor asked absently. “You’ve done your best, more than I’d had any right to ask of you.” His battle-ready excitement echoed in the air, and he could almost sense Mjölnir’s presence.

Almost. Not quite. But he would again, once he completed this quest and the hammer was back in his hands.

As if answering his silent pledge, thunder echoed in the distance. Thor shrugged out of his coat, passing it to Jane. “Here, you’ll need this.” It was warm and would protect against the rain, but it was also restrictive and confining. Thor would need agility and speed to evade or fight off a multitude of S.H.I.E.L.D. opponents without Mjölnir’s ability to destroy hundreds with a single blow. The less he wore, the better. At least his pants were flexible enough, the denim material moving easier even than leather.

“What’s your game plan?” Jane asked, looking over the compound without the aid of her binoculars.

“You will stay here, out of sight and out of harm’s way,” Thor said firmly. “I will enter the compound and retrieve Mjölnir and my brother. When we return, I will take you to regain what was stolen from you.” He shifted, impatient to be on his way. He missed Mjölnir like he would miss an arm, and he worried for Tony who could easily bite off more than he could chew. Thor had been through this, or something like it, time and time again. He was prepared to be the hero, once again, and save the day. That would prove to his father that he could protect the weak and… and whatever else he’d promised to do.

He stood to go, and Jane’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm and stalling him. “That’s your plan? Are you insa- wait, stupid question. Never mind.” She pulled Thor forward a little. “Look what’s down there. Look at how many people and how many _guns_ there are. You can’t just walk in, take whatever you want, and walk out again.”

“Of course not,” Thor agreed, pulling away slightly as Jane released him in relief. “I’m going to fly out.”

The rain was a welcome ally. It would keep the guards’ heads down, blur their vision somewhat. Tony had often complained about Thor’s delight in raiding during thunderstorms (both natural ones and ones that Thor called down with Mjölnir), but Tony wasn’t here to bring Thor’s mood down. He could still feel the energy, the leashed destructive force held within the clouds, and his spirit, if not his actual self, fed from it.

The rain also loosened the soil at the base of the fence, making it child’s play to unearth it and crawl under. S.H.I.E.L.D. had also considerately left numerous black and yellow barrels by the fence for cover, something Thor considered rather incompetent, but wasn’t above using.

He lacked his usual strength, now no more powerful than a mortal. That wasn’t enough to stop him, but he would take whatever aid he could.

He mostly tried to keep out of sight, saving himself for necessary battles only. For all that they’d taken Tony, Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been polite enough, and Thor still wasn’t sure which Realm this was. There was no reason to foment bad blood through unnecessary killing.

Of course, if any harm had come to Tony, or Mjölnir had been misused, Thor reserved the right to fight unrestrained.

Until then, however, he pulled his punches, knocking out the two guards who drove up to him with their own weapons before moving quickly towards the center of the compound. If that wasn’t where Tony was being held, it was where Mjölnir would be.

Just before the alarms went off, Thor heard it. Mjölnir’s song. It called to him, from the center of the snaking tents, and Thor grinned.

And then, the alarms. And he’d been so careful…

Secrecy be damned, Thor wanted his hammer back. He dashed across the compound, drawing immediate attention as the alarms caused, not panic, but a orderly bustle of activity. So, this S.H.I.E.L.D. did have some level of skill, after all. Thor raced through the white tubes, battling any soldier in his way, doing what he could to keep his blows non-fatal as he fought them off one-by-one or in twos and threes.

And then he saw it. Mjölnir. The triumphant song running through his head, Thor moved forward to claim his glory.

And got side-swiped by a creature he immediately suspected to be part giant.

“You’re big,” Thor admitted, his grin widening now that he had a target and a goal both in plain sight. “I’ve fought bigger.”

They broke through the thin tube and rolled in the mud for a while, wrestling as Thor had done in his youth. There was something to be said for this, fighting with his bare hands against an opponent well-trained and well-matched in strength. There was no doubt in Thor’s mind that he would win, and in winning would fulfil his quest, but just the sheer joy of the fight was a release.

Around the time he had his opponent pinned to the slippery ground, Thor became aware of a sensation of being watched, catching a glimpse of a marksman from a high-up vantage point. The moment of distraction was enough for the S.H.I.E.L.D. soldier to throw Thor off and begin the struggle anew. Thor realized how vulnerable he was, and how close he was to Mjölnir, and couldn’t let anything, even the delight of battle, distract him. He kicked the man down, making sure he stayed down, before wiping the blood and mud off his face and striding towards Mjölnir.

He tried to keep an eye on the archer, but the song was driving everything else out, until it was the only thing he could hear; Mjölnir the only thing he could see.

It was like coming home. The familiar runes etched on the head, the warm leather of the handle waiting for his hand, the shine that reflected back with every lightning strike, glistening in the rain. Thor felt the rush of victory, the thrill of accomplishment, along with the yearning for the comfort of an object more familiar than many comrades Thor had fought beside.

This would end his final quest. This would prove him worthy of being a king.

He reached down and gripped the handle, feeling the slight give of the leather as his grip tightened, welcoming him home. With this he would take his brother and they would take their rightful places as Asgard’s…

Asgard’s…

Mjölnir wasn’t moving. It seemed stuck in the earth, something that should have been impossible. Perhaps Thor just had to pull harder.

And harder.

With both hands.

 _Harder_.

There was nothing for it. He couldn’t lift Mjölnir. Its weight was too much for him.

He didn’t understand. This had never happened before. Never, since he’d been gifted with the hammer, had Mjölnir been anything but the perfect weight in his hands.

Tony was captured and Thor was helpless and Mjölnir had rejected him.

And Thor didn’t understand any of it. He didn’t understand _why_.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

Between the Casket, the bifröst, and a veritable army of sorcerers, Loki rarely had to use the secret paths between Realms. But he wasn’t named _world-walker_ for nothing, and with his newly stoked powers, he managed to tear open a short path directly from Svartálfaheim to Jötunheim.

The cold air and crisp scentless snow brought Loki to his knees, nearly weeping with joy over being home once again. He could sense, off in the distance but gradually coming closer, the chaos of long legs racing over snow and ice, the low and anxious cries of his people, come to see him safe and sound.

Loki didn’t consider himself a trusting individual, far from it. And yet, when Thrym’s hand clasped Loki’s shoulder, Loki could do nothing but lean into the larger Jötunn.

“Next time,” Thrym said, his voice wavering with barely suppressed emotion, “even to Asgard will I come with you.”

“Agreed,” Loki said before losing consciousness.

When he next awoke, he was in the healing rooms and both Thrym and Angrboda rested by his bedside. Loki had been in these rooms numerous times, but usually only visiting wounded warriors to show them his gratitude, or to watch as Thor recovered from his latest ill-conceived idea. Or Loki’s amusingly-conceived idea. Actually, the healing rooms had a surprising amount of rather pleasant memories associated with them.

But he’d never been lying down, injured and recovering, in any of those memories.

“My king,” Angrboda said, startling Thrym out of his doze. “You’re awake.”

Loki traced over his chest, feeling the intricate designs of Malekith’s runes, and the deeper, harsher grooves of Loki’s own designing, keeping Malekith’s magic in check. He sighed in relief; the healers hadn’t tried to ‘fix’ it.

“Loki-king, is there anything you need?” Thrym asked, more careful than usual. Clearly, his failure still weighed heavily on him, despite the fact that what failure there had been was Loki’s, and Thyrm wouldn’t be out of line in saying that he had been right.

But that wasn’t the way they worked.

“How long has it been? What has happened while I was missing?” Loki asked. “How fares Jotunheim?”

Angrboda and Thrym exchanged anxious looks. “You were lost yesterday, and yet that loss was felt keenly here, My Liege. But Asgard’s sons were exiled the very day you were lost, and most of the attention of the Nine Realms has fixated on them. None of the other Realms offered either succour or took advantage of your absence, instead focusing their attentions on the crippled royal family of the Golden Realm after the Allfather slipped into the Odinsleep.”

Loki frowned. A day? It had felt like weeks, months. A time compression spell as well as everything else Malekith had done, to ensure he would be able to move swiftly against a target that hadn’t time to prepare. “News that is equal parts welcome and disturbing. What is Asgard’s current situation?”

“Queen Frigga rules during the Odinsleep, which has given her people much comfort. She has staved off most of the more overtly ambitious attempts of her court and the visiting dignitaries, and is dealing with the more subtle ones.”

“Good for her,” Loki said, sitting up with a small wince as the cauterized skin over his chest and abdomen stretched. “The other seven Realms…”

Thrym shrugged. “Relatively stable. Hela was insulted when we asked her if you’d arrived in her Realm, which may need some smoothing over, but otherwise, everything seems to be unchanged.” He leaned forward. “Where were you, Loki-king? We scoured the Realms for you, physically and magically. Skrymir even tried to use the casket, but it wouldn’t respond to him. That was the only hope we had that you were still alive.”

That reminded Loki. “The mages who sent us off. Have they been punished?”

“Not overtly,” Angrboda said. “They were imprisoned, suspected of foul play in your supposed death, but other than the standard interrogations, nothing has happened to them.”

Loki nodded. “See to their release. We will need every able-bodied sorcerer and warrior we have.” He stood, ignoring the aches that weighed down his body. “Jötunheim is going to war.”

Angrboda argued for restraint. Thrym argued for patience. Loki ignored them both and ordered servants in to dress him in his royal garb, ignoring the weight that pulled down on his shoulders. At least his ruined (and runed) chest was covered.

Skrymir eventually visited him, just as Loki was about to discharge himself from all medical care and plan an address to his nation. “My King.” Skrymir knelt and bowed his head, abasing himself nearly to the ground. “I abjectly apologize for not being here when you first returned, I was…”

“Get up,” Loki snapped, irritably. “I don’t care where you were, Skrymir, I assume you were seeing to important matters, as only you can. You have no apologies to make to me, and have only to accept my thanks.”

Skrymir stood, keeping his head respectfully lowered, despite the fact that he towered over Loki. “Your trust and love mean the world to me, Loki-king, but I _have_ wronged you. When we thought you dead, I… I tried to use the Casket of Ancient Winters. Such lack of faith is deplorable, and I should be properly reprimanded.”

“It’s not important,” Loki said. “Had I died, the Casket would surely have become yours, there was no harm in attempting to harness its power. But now I have a more important matter for you to deal with.” He started walking and Skrymy fell in beside him. “We are, as of now, at war with Svartálfaheim.”

“… _war_ , Loki-king?”

“To the last. Nothing, save the unconditional surrender or death of Malekith will assuage my rage.” Loki turned to Skrymir. “I need you to start reading the warriors, the mages, the old generals from the slaughter of Midgard, the new tacticians training under them. Everyone, Skrymir. This will be a war that spans _Realms_.”

Skrymir hesitated a moment, then bowed. “As you wish. And you, Loki-king?”

Loki had initially planned to talk to his people directly, rally them to arms himself. But another, better idea had occurred to him, and he was willing to postpone the gathering for now. “I will be with the Casket for now. I’ll send for you when I’m done.”

Skrymir bowed again, and went to do his king’s bidding. Loki watched him go before turning to his own duties.

The Casket of Ancient Winters was stored in the High Temple, despite the fact that the Jötnar no longer worshiped ‘gods’. It was still a place of mysticism and security, guarded as carefully as any castle or keep, with Jötunheim’s aura strong enough to be felt, pulsing, through the Temple by even the most insensitive creatures.

Loki wasn’t insensitive. To him, the Temple was his true mother and father, welcoming and calm, embracing him every time he stepped past the threshold. The guardians bowed to him and let him pass, as he walked with great purpose to the Casket, laying his hands on it and breathing deeply of its magic and power.

“He was a fool, to think I’d give him _anything_ like you,” Loki murmured, feeling the Casket respond approvingly. “We will have our revenge. I promise you.” With nothing more than a pulse of will, Loki had the Casket open a line of communication to Asgard, to _Hliðskjálf_ directly, or rather to the Allmother seated on the throne.

“Loki-king.” She sounded pleased to hear from him. “You are safe, then?”

“Indeed, Allmother. I heard of the trials of your sons. Are they still far from Asgard?”

“They are. But they are growing as they should. Their father, as you know, does nothing without a purpose.”

She sounded so very sure of herself. Loki could scream with frustration, at how handily his two most promising allies had been taken out of the picture. “Of course. We have much to thank the Allfather for, here on Jötunheim. And now, under the rule of the Allmother, does Asgard still remember her allies?”

“She does,” Frigga said easily. “And she rejoices in their strength.”

“Strength is what I need,” Loki said pointedly. “And what Thor and Tony would have offered me, had I asked it of them.”

Figga nodded. “Though never formally sworn, you are sword-brothers.”

“We are. And yet to ask them for help now, in their weakened states, would be to ask them to die. I have no desire to demand that.”

“And I thank you for that.”

Loki nodded. “In return, however, I ask that Asgard stands with me, with Jötunheim, against those who have harmed us.”

Frigga hesitated, and Loki felt his stomach clench. She was a peaceful monarch, Asgard had never gone to war under her rule. But Loki was coming to her as a supplicant, due to the situation _she_ had created in exiling her sons. Surely she would act with compassion towards _him_ , even if that meant raising arms against another…

“I cannot, Loki-king,” Frigga said, sounding genuinely regretful. “Though my sons would venture with you, sending you arms or warriors isn’t something Asgard can do at this time. You act against Svartálfaheim?”

“I do.”

“Then I can only wish you luck, and send my sons your regards once they return. If you wish to entice any individual Asgardian to your cause, you may. But Asgard will remain officially neutral in this war.”

Loki gripped the Casket hard between his hands, hard enough that it let out a short burst of energy as a complaint. Frigga looked concerned now, leaning forward. “Loki, don’t…”

Loki screamed and released all the pent-up rage and anger at being abducted, tortured, and then abandoned. A golden glow enveloped the Casket from the other side of the line of communication and Loki was thrown across the room, his hands burned black.


	8. Moving Forward

“Where is he?”

The Jötunn guard hesitated a moment before bowing. “He’s inside, Skrymir-ki…”

Skrymir smiled just a little at the near-slip. “Thank you.”

Loki sat in his chambers, on the balcony overlooking the Casket, brooding.

“My King.”

Loki flinched at Skrymir’s deceptively gentle voice, hiding his bandaged hands like a boy caught playing in the mud. “This has been a trying week, Skrymir.” His voice, at least, was steady.

“ _You’ve_ had a trying week?” Skrymir snorted. “At least you knew what was happening. I was working with no knowledge of whether or not you were alive or dead, no idea if I needed to take the throne to establish order or if doing so would be sacrilege. And now you declare war against Svartálfaheim without even a hint of diplomatic attempts, and attempt to drag _Asgard_ into it?”

“Asgard is an ally and a war-like nation.”

“Ruled currently by its _Queen_. You know the Allmother’s preferences, you know she would avoid any conflict she could. We’re still a subjugated nation, boy, relying on Asgard as our go-between with the other Realms who still see us as beasts or monsters. All your efforts aside, there is no Realm, save Muspelheim, that would willingly ally with us against the dark elves. They have _use_ , _purpose_. We are just savages eking out a living on a barren sheet of ice.”

Loki stood. “Svartálfaheim… _Malekith_ is planning something, Skrymir. Something far greater than he’s ever attempted before. He’s not using wiles and trickery this time, not using subtlety and proxies. He kidnapped me, tried to force me to build something akin to the Casket, and all for some ultimate goal.” Loki shied away from mentioning Asgard again. Skrymir was already angry enough.

“Malekith is a dreamer, Loki. And, yes, it’s very unfortunate that you were swept up in his dreams, but he is nothing more than a dreamer. And should he find the strength to make a genuine move against Asgard and her allies, well… that sounds like an opportunity to profit, from both sides if care is taken.”

Loki looked away. Hearing his imprisonment and torment being waved off as something ‘unfortunate’ was hard, but Skrymir was his oldest and truest friend. There was some validity to it as well, as Loki would live a long life, wherein these past few days would dissolve into meaninglessness. Trials and tribulations that would fade with time, into lessons learned and gains salvaged. Somehow.

Skrymir cleared his throat. “In fact, one could argue that you’ve already found a way to profit…”

For a moment, Loki had no idea what he was talking about. Then his hand went to his chest, to the deep and still-painful runes etched there.

“Show me.”

Loki’s hand clenched the leather vest, pulling it tighter around his frame, before forcing himself to relax. “Only because you’re no mage.” As wise as he was, Skrymir wouldn’t have the knowledge to understand what, exactly, had been done to Loki and what he’d done to himself in return.

Loki pulled the vest over his head, revealing both his scared chest, and his scaphoid abdomen from his brief period of starvation and overexertion.

Skrymir reached out, not quite touching Loki’s chest. “…remarkable.”

Loki felt vulnerable, exposed. He let Skrymir look for a moment before he pulled his vest on again. As soon as it was over his head, Skrymir tugged it into order, as if he was dressing a child. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and Loki pulled away as soon as he could, not caring if it made him look weak.

From Skrymir’s impressed chuckle, Loki was anything but weak in his eyes, burnt hands or no.

“Loki. You’ve gone through an ordeal. You are full of anger and vengeance, and that’s _fine_ , that’s good and kingly and noble. But since you’ve returned, you’ve created a diplomatic incident with Asgard and declared war on a Realm that has no idea of your grievances.”

“Malekith knows,” Loki said darkly.

“I know, boy, I know. But you’re not thinking clearly right now. You’re still recovering. Let me handle the fallout from your return, the incident with Asgard, the sabre-rattling that’s currently happening. Let me soothe things over now, Loki-king, and keep the nation stable and our alliances strong. Let the chaos calm before you return to your full strength, to your position of power.”

Loki bowed his head. “Thank you, old friend. I feel… I will reflect on my situation for now.”

“Is there anything I can bring to you? Anything you need?”

Loki thought for a moment. “Angrboda. Is she free? I would speak with her.”

“I’ll have her fetched directly.” Skrymir bowed and backed out of the room. “Whatever you desire, Loki-king.”

It was a few hours before Angrboda entered Loki’s chambers, but she entered with food, so any ire at the delay was fast overwhelmed with the realization of just how _hungry_ Loki was.

She laughed as he ate. “Careful, My King, or it will sit poorly.”

“No need for formalities,” Loki said, his mouth full. “And there is room enough inside me for food to sit or stand however it likes.” He’d lost more weight in Svartálfaheim than he’d had to spare.

“Agreed,” Angrboda said, slightly more solemnly, although her eyes still twinkled. “You’re thin as an icicle, Loki.”

Loki nodded and swallowed a mouthful of whatever drink she’d brought him. “And it will be difficult to gain weight with this.” He paused in his eating to remove his vest, letting Angrboda have a good and full view of his chest.

She gasped, and Loki realized that she hadn’t looked while he’d been convalescing. He laughed. “Sensibilities, dear Angrboda?”

“My King has the right to his secrets,” she said primly, before grinning. “Thrym was there the whole time, growling at everyone who even peered too close to it.”

“And yet he told Skrymir of it.”

“He was worried, we all were. But outside of us three, and the healers, no one has seen your chest since you arrived.”

Loki’s grin widened. “You must have been _dying_ with curiosity.”

“No, Loki, not really.” Angrboda looked at him sadly. “Not when you were actually near death.”

That took a lot of the fun out of teasing. Loki reached out and took Angrboda’s hand, placing it against the start of the runes. She closed her eyes and sighed, letting her fingers, gentle and agile for such large digits, speak to her of the magic woven into the symbols.

“You’ve tied these in your life energy.”

“No choice. No other power source available,” Loki said. “But here…” He moved her hand over, just slightly, and she gasped. “You can feel it?”

Angrboda laughed in disbelief. “Such energy, so much… if this hadn’t saved you, it would have killed you.”

“It may still kill me,” Loki admitted. “It is the weakest part of my working. So. Can you think of an alteration?”

Angrboda shook her head. “I can’t… I’ve just seen it, and it may be too early to say for sure but… My instincts say no, Loki. That this is the price for your salvation. Does it hurt?”

“Like fire.” Loki winced as Angrboda pulled away, her cool touch retreating from his overheated skin. “I’ll continue working on it, I promise, and I hope to have your help.”

“I would have to examine this more closely,” Angrboda said. “Both your working and the workings done to you. I don’t know if this is something you’d entrust…”

It was incredibly personal, what he was asking, what she needed from him in order to accept. Loki looked up at her steadily. “You are the most capable, qualified, trustworthy person I have ever met.”

Angrboda looked back at him. “Loki…”

“I don’t have anyone else I can ask but you.” He fisted his hands at his side, not wanting to reach out and touch Angrboda, not wanting to seem either desperate or as if he was promising something he couldn’t.

She looked away, biting her lip in an entirely fetching way, and Loki desperately hoped that his request hadn’t broken the strained friendship they’d managed to forge, despite him being her king.

“Alright,” Angrboda said finally, looking down to meet Loki’s eyes. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful!” Loki smiled. “You do know that means spending more time with me.”

“I’m aware.”

“With my shirt off.”

“Naturally.” Angrboda started smiling.

“You could take yours off too. Make things more even, more fair.”

She swatted at him. “In your dreams, Loki-king.”

Loki clutched at his chest. “Ah, Angrboda! Who told you of those?”

Their laughter was shared and easy, and Loki breathed freely again, knowing he hadn’t ruined anything between them.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

Thor sat silently in the chair offered to him, dripping wet and filthy from the mud he’d wrestled in.

He’d been left alone, with the small and petty S.H.I.E.L.D. thugs flittering around the glass walls of his room, ignoring him as if he was of no moment.

Perhaps he wasn’t.

Perhaps he was nothing but a failure.

Thor didn’t, as a rule, fail. He was ambitious, often taking on tasks that would normally have gone to more experienced, elder men. But he had a clever brother and staunch friends, and even if it cost him a broken sword, a pint of blood, even broken bones, he would accomplish what he set out to do. Never had his father sent him on an impossible mission, and never with the goal something so dear and important, so close and yet so far from his grasp.

This was unfair. How could Thor succeed in a task he couldn’t even figure out? Even Tony, clever Tony, had assumed Mjölnir to be the quest and the reward. Perhaps they had needed someone else, someone who knew the windy ways Odin’s mind worked. Someone like Loki or Frigga, who could translate the Allfather’s whims into proper orders.

But they weren’t here. No one was here, not even Tony. Thor was alone, bereft, and a failure.

“Oh, Donny, Donny, Donny.” Thor looked up at Erik Selvig’s voice, bombastic and almost jolly. “It’s gonna be alright. I’m taking you hone now.”

He wrapped his arms around Thor’s shoulders, pulling him up out of his seat and towards the door. Thor went with him, silent and stunned.

“Not so fast, Dr. Selvig.” Thor brightened as he saw Agent, the man from Jane’s workshop who had absconded with Tony. Perhaps that meant Tony was here after all. “We still need to ask him a few questions. You as well, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I…” Selvig started.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Agent said. “We’ve arranged for the two young women with you to be escorted here as well. They should join you in a few minutes.”

Selvig stiffened at that, as did Thor. “Pardon me, Agent,” Thor said, a little startled as several heads perked up at that. “Ah, the son of Coul, please.” Most of the heads returned to focusing on their work, save for Coulson. “The Ladies Jane and Darcy have nothing to do with this.”

“Really? Dr. Selvig here told me you were doing this because Dr. Foster’s research had been taken.”

Ah. So they were going for honesty. “In truth, I am here for her belongings, yes, but also for mine.”

“Yours?” Coulson asked.

“My brother,” Thor said, leaving Mjölnir out of this for now.

“Your… ah.” Coulson frowned. “Indeed. Well, I’ll go check up on his status, if you like.” He opened a secure door, into a room that was white and bare, save for several black chairs and a table. “Until then, would you like anything? Coffee?”

Selvig waved him off, and Thor didn’t want to break ranks. “Nothing, thank you.”

They sat for a few moments until Selvig sighed. “Well, they almost certainly have this room wired, but there’s no reason not to chat, eh, _Donald_?”

Selvig was clearly referring to him, and Thor decided to ignore the odd names he was being called, in return for asking another question about names. “Why are so many here named ‘Agent’? Wouldn’t that cause confusion?”

“What? Oh, no, it’s not a name, it’s a title. Like ‘Doctor’. I’m Dr. Selvig, Jane’s Dr. Foster, you’re Dr. Donald Blake…”

“Ah.” That made more sense. Except for that last bit. “What is Lady Darcy’s title, then?”

“Pain in the – Darcy!” Selvig stood as Darcy and Jane were escorted in. “So good of you two to join our little family field trip.”

“No offense, but I’d rather not have,” Jane said, but she smiled at Thor. “Hey. Good to see you looking so…”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Darcy agreed. “Very so.”

“…uninjured,” Jane finished. “I take it the hammer thing didn’t work out as planned.”

Thor sighed. “Alas, no. My father has set out a mission for me, to truly understand what I’d pledged at my not-coronation. But he never described what I was to do. He only removed my powers and set Mjölnir far from my grasp. As something, I thought, to quest for. But I quested and succeeded, and yet I remain powerless and hammerless.”

Darcy tittered. Jane shushed her. “What did you promise?”

“I swore to guard the Nine Realms, to preserve the peace. I pledged myself to cast aside all selfish ambition and dedicate myself to the good of all the Realms.”

“Selfish ambition and dedicating yourself to the good of all?” Jane and Darcy exchanged a look before Darcy shrugged.

“Sounds like community service to me.”

Thor leaned in. “How so?”

“Community service is when you volunteer to help someone without expecting anything back. Like working at a hospital as a candy striper, or in an old folk’s home or an animal shelter.”

Selvig snorted. “Or picking litter off the sides of highways, washing up after vandals…”

Darcy shrugged. “Sure. Anything like that. The point is, you’re doing work that’s below your ‘station’ for no money, out of the goodness of your heart.”

The more they spoke of ‘community service’, the more it sounded like the work of women or thralls. Below his station _indeed_. Still, there was no denying it could make the Realms, or at least a small part of them, a better place, and it was certainly unselfish.

“Where does one do this ‘community service’?” Thor asked.

“Anywhere,” Darcy said. “Sometimes you need a background check, but… ah, given that you’re Dr. Donald Blake…” she winked overtly at Thor, who blinked back, “most places’ll take you without that many questions.”

Thor nodded pensively. That made sense, the idea of assessing a potential ally before trusting in him. But how could pretending to be this Donald Blake help? Surely his friends would know that Thor wasn’t him when asked, and the background checks would uncover the deception. There had to be another reason, either why Erik and Jane and Darcy wanted him to pretend to be Blake, or why they wanted him to pretend to be not-Thor. Thor had occasionally taken on the guise of another, particularly when adventuring with Loki, and was practiced enough in allowing others to take the brunt of acting while he stayed quiet and patient behind them, waiting for the fight.

But here, surrounded by the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Thor hoped there would be no battle. Every courtesy had been extended to them, more than they had a right to expect after invading S.H.I.E.L.D.’s territory. The more Thor learned about these people, the more he wished to be their ally, despite having nothing much to offer without his strength and power.

At least Tony, even in mortal form, would have his wits and his abilities to maintain him. In fact, apart from the long life and endurance of Asgard that had been taken from them both, Tony was more or less what he always was. The main difference being that Thor was not, and could not protect him if his sharp tongue got him into trouble.

Thor put aside thoughts of Mjölnir and his own unworthiness to focus on what he might be able to help. “When you were brought in, was there any indication of where my brother is being held?”

Darcy and Jane shrugged. “Nothing obvious,” Jane said. “We were pretty much directed straight to this room, but there were no areas sectioned off or anything. They think he’s… not human, so I would expect some kind of containment.”

“Like a prison?” Thor demanded, feeling rage well up inside him. Tony had gone with them willingly! It was Thor who had blundered in, and he was being allowed the company of his friends, while Tony… What was Tony being subjected to?

Jane shrugged again. “I’m not sure, Thor. We’re not all that ready for first contact, at least as far as I know.”

“Yeah, but this is S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Darcy said. “They probably have containment chambers and suspension fluid and all sorts of ways of making sure aliens are kept under control.” Jane elbowed her in the side. “ _Ow_! What? I’m just telling the truth.” She turned earnestly to Thor. “Look, I want to get your hot brother back too, trust me. But if there’s one thing studying governments and watching crappy movies has taught me, it’s that the government never kills aliens right off the bat. And, when the aliens can speak, well there’s that much more of an incentive to get what we can from them. So your brother’s probably safe. At least for a few days.”

“You gift me with cold comfort, Lady Darcy.”

“Yeah, well, the truth hurts, big guy. The important thing for now is to keep your mouth shut, your head low, and learn what you can. Because if they don’t let you see Tony in the next two days…”

Thor growled, and the three humans in the room with him shivered, their prey hindbrains looking for a place to take cover.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Jane said, overcoming her instinctive fear and placing her hand on Thor’s arm. “Darcy’s right in that they’re probably just… talking to him.”

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

Tony looked at ‘Howard Stark’, unimpressed. “A pleasure to meet you.” He’d been taken by surprise by the odd similarities, but from what he’d seen S.H.I.E.L.D. was an organization that employed hundreds, likely thousands of individuals. Surely they could have found one whose appearance was similar to Tony’s.

“The pleasure’s all mine, I assure you,” Howard said, shaking his head. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I might not have believed it.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m still not seeing what’s so unbelievable. There are millions, _billions_ of you Midgardians flitting about this planet. Is it so surprising that one of you superficially resembles an Asgardian?”

“Asgardian?” Howard repeated. “From… Asgardia?”

“Asgard.”

“Ah.” Howard gestured at the chair. “May I? Standing for more than a few minutes makes my hips ache.”

Tony picked up the handcuffs and inclined his head. Howard sat, more interested in the cuffs than in the chair. “How’d you get out of those?”

“It’s a simple latch mechanism,” Tony said, almost insulted. “A child could escape from them.”

“They’re not typical police-issue,” Howard said thoughtfully. “Most of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s tech is designed by Stark Industries, and a lot of it is one-of-a-kind.”

Tony snorted. “Then may I suggest outsourcing to a mage? Oh, wait, Midgard has no magic.”

“Do you?”

Tony shrugged. “None that has made itself apparent yet. My elder brother only harnessed his native power over storms when he received Mjölnir.”

Howard looked fascinated. “So you live in a world with ‘magic’,” two of his wizened fingers on each hand made a strange crooking motion as he spoke, “but you have none of your own. What did you do, then?”

“I created,” Tony said simply. “I build wonders, greater even than the dwarves and perfect for my own use. I am a craftsman, and Asgardians and Vanir alike beg and plead for my creations.” There was honour in that, although there likely wouldn’t have been much, had Tony not also found a way to fight alongside his brother.

“What a coincidence,” Howard said, looking pleased. “I’m a craftsman as well. I designed those handcuffs you seem to find so childish, as well as much of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s arsenal.”

“An ironmonger,” Tony said, dismissively. “You dole out toys made by the thousands to warriors you do not know. How can you be sure they will be used honourably?”

Howard shrugged. “That’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s job. And, incidentally, the US Armed Forces once the S.H.I.E.L.D. weapons are more than a few years out of date.”

Was he bragging? It sounded like he may have been bragging. Over what? Over the breadth of his weapons empire? Tony was less than impressed.

Meanwhile, Howard was pensive. “I wonder if it’s genetics? Is there an ‘inventing’ gene?”

Tony understood most of that, inherited traits being a rather universally observed phenomenon, but there were nuances he felt were missing from what the All-Speak was allowing him to hear. “Explain.”

“Well. Let’s start in the middle, shall we?” Howard leaned back in his chair. “Remember when you first… arrived here?” Tony nodded. “The hospital took a sample of your blood – mostly to see if you were drunk or drugged, but that’s not the point. S.H.I.E.L.D. has it now, and they’ve found some interesting things. Your blood type is A positive, you don’t have several nasty diseases or typical immunities, you probably drink more than you should, and you’re related to me.”

Tony laughed.

Howard waited him out, patiently. When Tony calmed down, Howard continued. “Actually, according to what they’ve been able to code of your genetics in the past few hours, you could be my son.”

That set Tony off again. “I’ve lived _hundreds_ of your years. I was born before the Jötnar left your dingy little planet, and I’ve watched you evolve from idiotic monkeys to more efficient idiotic monkeys. Your _son_? I am old enough to be your great-grandfather’s great-grandfather’s distant ancestor.”

“Are you?”

“No!” Tony laughed. “It has been forbidden to visit Midgard since your magic was taken, and I’ve never slept with anything other than a fellow Asgardian. Or Vanir. Or that one Jötunn, but Loki said she was a bit of a deviant, so that was more on her than on me…”

“Then how do you explain the genetics?”

“I don’t,” Tony said. “It’s not my problem. Explain to me, though, how it is yours?”

Howard just nodded and started explaining the gene theory and Mendellian genetics, quickly moving onto more specific topics like incomplete penetration and co-dominance. Tony followed him easily, grasping the basics and finally coming to the conclusion that, if the theories were correct, such tests could easily be used to determine relations.

“But it’s impossible that you’re that closely related to me,” Howard concluded. “Like you said, hundreds of years, dozens of generations, separate us, even if your father fathered one of my ancestors.”

“Or mother…” Tony frowned. “That’s impossible. All children of the Allfather and the Allmother are brought to Asgard, regardless of their other parent.” Tony thought of Vali and Vidarr, whose mothers were both giants, and Frigga’s…

Actually, Frigga had never had a child from anyone but Odin. Perhaps, in the chaos of war…

But no. Tony had been born during the Jötnar/Midgard conflict. He couldn’t have another sibling, save a twin, and if Frigga had abandoned one for fear of being called an adulteress, why not abandon both? Or rather, knowing his mother, keep both. In fact, the idea of the Allmother being called out for adultery was ridiculous to begin with. None of the theories Tony could think of made any sense.

Besides, “You are no Asgardian,” Tony said with certainty. “Even generations removed, there would be signs, a mark, a sense. You seem not only mortal to me, but purely of Midgard.”

“I probably am,” Howard said easily. “In fact, though I’ve never traced my ancestors that far, I don’t think I have a lot of Scandinavian blood, either. But that doesn’t change the fact that we, you and I, are very related.”

“Impossible.”

“Not as much as you might think. After all, you weren’t the only one in the hospital that day, and your… companion’s blood was also taken.”

Thor. Tony’s eyes narrowed, and only the constant repetition that Midgard no longer had its source of magical power, and therefore no longer had any significant magic, calmed him. “You have no right to his blood. To mine either, despite what stories you weave of imagined relationships. In fact, I have only your word, and the word of your scientists, that our ‘genes’ are anything alike.”

“I’ll show you, and you’ll learn how to interpret them in no time. You learn fast, scarily so to some, but I can see the echoes of my own genius in you.”

“You flatter yourself, _mortal_.”

“I know the science, _Asgardian_. And I know what it means. I know what it means for me and for you. And that’s in part because I’ve seen the results from your companion.”

“Brother,” Tony corrected. There was no point in hiding their relationship if these Midgardians wanted to claim their own relationships with them. Thor didn’t need Tony’s protection, which was partially what he’d allowed himself to be captures to assess, and the fewer lies told, the fewer things Tony would have to pay attention to.

Howard’s relaxed posture stiffened, making him look momentarily younger, sharper. “He’s your brother?”

“Shouldn’t your _genes_ have told you as much?” Tony asked. “If they can lie about father and son, they should be able to find brothers.”

Howard nodded, his eyes focused on Tony’s. “They can, that’s the thing. It’s not that your genes and your… brother’s didn’t match properly. It’s that your genes were readable, understandable. Not only earthly but human.”

Tony’s brain caught up and his body reacted, his eyes widening as he took an involuntary step back, before he consciously realized what that implied.

Howard didn’t stop, his voice continuing without hesitation.

“And your ‘brother’s genes… weren’t.”


	9. Hard Truths

Tony stared at Howard. “Weren’t… what?”

“Human. Earthly. _Understandable_. Your brother… Thor, wasn’t it? Thor isn’t just not human, not only not from this planet, but whatever makes him up is so very different from what makes everything else on this planet that we can’t even tell what it is.”

Howard had started sounding sympathetic, but as he spoke he seemed to ignore or forget that his words were ripping away the foundation of Tony’s life and he grew more and more excited at the wondrous possibilities.

“It was interesting enough, finding what looked like Stark DNA from a supposed alien, but then finding what we were expecting at first, finding truly alien… _something_ , not even DNA or proteins as we know them…” Howard trailed off in thought, before shrugging. “Ah well. Not really my field, I have a team of lovely young geneticists and the like working it over. A pity we don’t have a large enough sample to really work with – we’ve contaminated almost all the sample we had tying to get radioactive tags and ELISAs and such done.” He looked at Tony. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to talk your brother into a larger donation? For science?”

Tony stared at him. “If what you say is true…” And Tony had to remind himself that there was every chance that what Howard was saying _wasn’t_ the truth. “If what you say is true, then Thor isn’t my brother.”

“Sure he is,” Howard said easily. “Blood may be thicker than water – actually it isn’t, really, at body temperature, it’s less than 5% denser, which is essentially the same – but nothing binds people together like shared experience, even if that shared experience is a lie.” He stood, his old bones creaking, to face Tony directly. “C’mon. I’ll show you the lab, the scientists, the tech (which is the part I understand the best), and you can make your own calls.”

He waved at one of the guards, who came over and promptly opened the door with his left hand, keeping his right close to his weapon. “Sir?”

“Just taking our guest to the science area,” Howard said.

The guard hesitated. “I’m not sure…”

“Howard!” Everyone turned, and Howard and the guard both winced, as a red-head in a pencil skirt and dark grey blazer stormed up to them.

Tony frowned. She didn’t seem to be in any S.H.I.E.L.D. dress that he’d seen so far (certainly her high heels weren’t pseudo-military issue) but she carried with her an air of authority that even the venerable Howard Stark didn’t have.

Indeed, the moment she drew close enough, Howard deferred to her. “Pepper, I was just about to call you…”

“When, exactly?” Pepper demanded. “Phil called to say you were tied up in S.H.I.E.L.D business, despite the fact that you promised me this morning for a meeting with Obadiah and the board.”

Howard shrugged. “This was something of an emergency. Besides, the meeting’s at seven, right?”

“It’s six now,” Pepper said.

Tony hummed. He knew it had been a while since he’d been captured, and the sun had been setting as he was taken into the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, but he hadn’t realized the entire night had gone without him noticing. It was just as well that he and Thor had slept until early evening the previous day.

Howard turned a pleading expression to Pepper. “Look, this really is a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing. Can we postpone the meeting?”

“It’s been moved three times!”

“Just to this afternoon.”

“These people have lives too, Howard.”

Tony wanted answers, or at least versions of Howard’s ‘truth’ told by others, who might not be so skilled at dissembling. He stepped forward. “I beg your pardon…”

Pepper looked at him, eyes still narrowed, her irritation at Howard overflowing slightly to include Tony for a moment before she reined it in and became a paragon of professionalism. “Pepper Potts, CMO of Stark Industries.”

So many titles to choose from. Tony took the most obvious. “Lady Pepper.” It was amusing, watching her cheeks colour and her eyes widen. Her freckles stood out even more from her pale skin as she blushed – it was quite comely. “I apologize most sincerely for my rudeness in monopolizing Mr. Stark’s time. Unfortunately, he is telling the truth, and our business needs to be settled sooner rather than later.”

“That is unfortunate, Mr.…”

Tony bowed. “At this point in time, any surname would be presumptuous. Call me Tony.”

Pepper didn’t look happy, but she accepted that. “Tony. Your time limits are unfortunate indeed, because Mr. Stark’s time is very clearly spoken for.” She spoke firmly, but not aggressively. Tony liked her.

A pity she didn’t seem to like him.

“I would be more than happy to arrange a meeting some time in the future. Let me give you Howard’s PA’s number.”

Howard sighed. “Pep, this is important.”

“What could be so important that…” Pepper cut herself off, peering intently at Tony for a long moment. “Oh. _Oh_. Howard, the board is going to _have_ to know about this! Especially if you’re altering your will and inheritance. Can he even run a business?” She turned to Tony. “Can you even run a business?”

“I can rule a Realm,” Tony offered, bemused but more than a little entertained by Pepper’s delightful new mania. “Is a board like a council?” Pepper looked at him incredulously, and Tony tried again. “Like a Thing?”

“…it’s a thing, alright,” Pepper said, turning to Howard with a horrified expression.

Howard shrugged. “I’d rather have all the information before I go to the board with this, Pep. Postpone the meeting?”

“I… I can’t believe you have a good excuse!” Pepper fumed. “Alright, Howard, I’ll push it back until tomorrow, but we’re talking before then. And Obadiah, too! He has the right to know what’s happening.”

“And the moment I figure it out, he will,” Howard promised. “Now, I have to go show my… to show Tony the lab.”

Pepper nodded. “I’ll deal with the board.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Pepper,” Tony said. Pepper made a soft, despairing sound and nodded before turning tail and retreating.

Tony watched her go. “She seems wonderful.”

“She is. Best Chief Marketing Officer we’ve ever had, but a bit too caught up in the _image_ of the company to worry about the nitty gritty.” Howard grinned as he led Tony down one of the unremarkable S.H.I.E.L.D. corridors. “I’m more of a details person. The advances we’ve made have basically kept me alive and working, long past what my biological clock and personal habits should have allowed.” Tony smiled and nodded politely, remembering that humans lived, generally, less than a century. Longevity _would_ be important to them. Asgard had its own ways of ensuring a long and healthy life for its people, in the form of Iðunn's apples. Even had Tony been human, the apples would have kept him alive and healthy alongside Thor for centuries. Tony distracted himself from considering how Howard's claims might be credible by listening to him as he continued. “More than that, though, we’ve made the world a better place. I truly believe that.” Howard’s confident voice dropped slightly. “I _have_ to believe that.”

This wasn’t Tony’s place, but Howard had left an opening far too inviting to be ignored. “You make weapons for warriors you’ve never met, whose hearts you know not,” he said gently. “How can you be sure they are in the proper hands to make this world better?”

“They’re in the hands of the U.S. Military,” Howard said. “I trust our boys.” The words seemed almost defensive, with a weight behind them whose origin Tony couldn’t divine.

He did, however, notice Howard’s omission. “And their leaders? Their lords and commanders? Those giving the orders and making the decisions, are they as trustworthy as the boys following them?”

Howard gave him a look, then laughed, bitterly. “Nice to see the universe has _some_ constants. I trust some of the lords. Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. have never let me down without good cause, and we’ve had more than a few heroes over the years. But, yeah, sometimes it’s hard to place your faith in politicians and even some generals.”

“And yet you arm them.”

“Beats the alternative. Hey, we’re here.” Howard keyed in a numeric passcode (6-9-2-something-5-7), and the large metallic doors slid open, revealing…

Paradise.

Not Valhalla. As appealing as an eternal feast might be, Tony had always thought that it sounded like it would become dull after a while. _This_ was his idea of heaven – a dazzling array of technology, with multiple purposes and multiple issues, to solve multiple problems, in front of a multitude of people who _understood_ how impressive it was.

Howard looked at him with pride, over the impressive laboratory, and a shared sense of wonder – like a father who had just bought his son a candy store. “You like it?”

“It’s…” Tony didn’t have the words. He was getting more comfortable with computers, seeing how useful they must be for the humans who had less memory capacity than he did, which was a good thing as there were more computers crammed into the lab than he’d ever seen – not just on desks, but on walls, counters, carried in the arms of the technicians or on wheeled carts. It was a marvel, how these people compensated for their small minds.

But the computers were just on the periphery. In the center of the room, behind the clear shielding of something more than mere glass, were dozens of machines, diligently firing away as they made the pieces that the Midgardians, with their computers, had ordered them to make.

Tony was beginning to realize how simple it could be to make millions of the same weapon, for people you’d never even met, with the use of those robots.

“This is just the mobile R+D,” Howard said, pride warming his every word. “The major stuff happens in the stable labs, back in New York and Malibu and a few places I’m not allowed to mention because of National Security.” He let Tony gape for a few more moments, before pulling him to the side. “We’ll save most of that for later. For now, we’ll head over to the bio/genetics lab where all your questions will be answered.”

Ah, right. The shiny technology had distracted Tony from the fact that, apparently, Thor wasn’t his brother. “You know that I have no reason to believe you.”

“No reason not to believe me either,” Howard pointed out. “I don’t gain anything by suddenly having an alien son.” He paused. “With strong moral fibre. Who’s also an inventor. With me in my nineties without an heir…”

Tony shook his head. “I will not turn my back on Asgard.”

“Really?” Howard asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Never? Not ever? Not for anything?”

“Why, Mr. Stark,” Tony said, with a smile that flirted with dangerous. “Are you attempting to recruit me?”

Howard shrugged. “Maybe. Haven’t really seen what you can do, besides unlocking handcuffs and grasping a working-man’s knowledge of computer systems just by watching for a few hours. Impressive, yes. Useful?” He didn’t seem so certain.

Tony bristled. “I have created a suit of armour that magnifies my strength to near that of my brother, that processes battlefield information faster than Munnin and Huginn, that flies more agilely than Mjölnir carries Thor. If by ‘useful’, you mean to ask if I will create similar weapons for your armies to use, the answer is an unqualified no. Even in Asgard, there are few who wield my weapons, and all of them are known to me by name and by deed.”

“Interesting,” Howard said, his eyes faintly avaricious at the mention of Tony's armour, but otherwise amused at his indignation. “What about non-weaponized technology?”

Tony looked at him, curious at this new concept. “Non-weapons?”

Howard laughed. “That really should scare me, I guess.” He reached out and slapped Tony’s shoulder. “Let’s get back to this after you get some answers from out head… hey, where’s Williams? Bruce, what are you doing here?”

“Ken decided he didn’t want to tangle with an unpredictable alien who might be pissed at some of the answers he heard, so he tagged me in. Don’t worry, I’ve used this stuff before for… yaknow.” Bruce, a rather unremarkable-looking Midgardian with the kind of calm confidence Tony would have expected in an expert, held out his hand to Tony. “Bruce Banner, gamma radiation expert and… heavy hitter.”

Tony took him at his word, grasping the hand firmly. “Tony, of Asgard.”

Howard shook his head. “If there’s one person here who agrees with your mistrust of generals, Tony, it’s Bruce.”

That intrigued Tony, even as Bruce shot Howard an irritated look. “I’m not the only one here with problems with the military-industrial complex,” he said. “Things aren’t as simple as WWII. Mostly _because_ of WWII.”

Code or jargon? Either way, it didn’t seem as if Bruce or Howard would translate, and Tony cared less for the allusions to some shared history than he did about the science. “Sorry to interrupt, but I believe Howard has other obligations?” Howard winced and Bruce relaxed, turning a wry smile to Tony.

“Right. Sorry, can I have your arm?” He brandished a box full of equipment similar to the bloodletting equipment in the hospital.

Tony frowned. “More blood magic?”

“Just a fresh sample,” Bruce said. “You want this done right, don’t you?”

At Tony’s side, Howard had rolled up his sleeves. “Do me first.”

Bruce shrugged and, with deft hands, drew up a vial full of blood, dark red and viscous, from Howard’s arm. “Ow,” Howard complained as Bruce removed the needle, pressing a piece of gauze to the small wound. “Well, Tony?”

Lest he be thought a coward, Tony presented his arm, allowing Bruce to draw another vial of his own blood.

It looked exactly the same as Howard’s, for what that was worth.

When he was done, Bruce placed both samples into the machine, which started whirring. “And now we wait. The most time-consuming part is the centrifuge, as it separates the useful bits from the plasma. Anywhere else, you’d have to wait days for the processing and results, but this is Howard Stark’s S.H.I.E.L.D. office, so we’ll have the answer for you in a few minutes. Coffee?”

Tony demurred, but Howard wandered off in search of ‘something stronger’. Bruce watched him go with a mild snort of amusement.

Alone with the ‘heavy hitter’, Tony found himself curious. “To clarify, it’s not generals I mistrust, it’s generals I haven’t properly… vetted.”

Bruce’s expression darkened. “It’s not always enough. Before I came to S.H.I.E.L.D.… well to Stark Industries actually, I was with the military. They wanted me to make them a super soldier.” Tony nodded when Bruce looked up at him, needing no clarification. Bruce continued. “What I ended up making was a monster, one they couldn’t control.”

“Have you slain it?” Tony asked.

“I _am_ it,” Bruce said. “That’s when the general I was working under and I… and _it_ parted on less than great terms. Things are better now, here. I have more control now, or at least I seem to, and Howard promised that S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t use me as a weapon if I came to work for him, so that’s… working out.”

Tony looked at him sceptically. Bruce shrugged. “It doesn’t show, unless I want it to, or I lose control.” He pressed a few buttons, and Tony was treated to the images of a giant green monster destroying what could generously be called a city, if a drab one. “Control is… important to me.”

“Indeed,” Tony said. “Still, I can see why you were willing to meet with an unknown alien without any fear.”

Bruce shrugged. “The only thing I fear now, is… him.”

A large piece of shrapnel came hurtling at the screen and the rest was lost in black and white fuzz.

“Huh.”

The machine dinged cheerfully and Bruce turned his attention back to it. “And done. Here are the results.” There screens showed three different things: two showing two strings consisting of four letters, repeated in seemingly random order, although both seemed mostly identical, while the last showed a simple solution: Match.

“DNA testing can be complicated, so we focused on the high-yield tests this time. Two males descended from the same progenerator will have the same Y-chromosone,” Bruce said. “Women don’t have it, so it gets passed on from father to son. On the other hand, only the mother passes down her mitochondria, so we sequence their DNA as well.”

“And which matched?” Tony asked.

“The Y-chromosone,” Bruce answered. “You and Howard share a… patrilineage, for lack of a better term.”

Which meant than Howard… was a son of Odin? Wait, what about… “Howard said there was another vial of blood tested.”

“Oh, that.” Bruce shrugged. “Wasn’t blood. Didn’t have any genetic markers that we know of, despite most of the other tests – hemoglobin, electrolytes, osmolality – being blood-like. Nothing grew in it either – no viruses or bacteria. It’s been only a few hours, but they all just died. Don’t know what that was, but it wasn’t human blood.”

“It was Asgardian.”

Bruce frowned. “Aren’t you…”

Howard burst into the room. Slowly. He was, after all, in his nineties. “Hey, your brother?”

He seemed to be waiting for a response. Tony frowned. “Yes?”

“Is he blond, big, and talks even more formally than you?”

Tony had been working at mimicking Midgardian speech, and was a little peeved that he hadn’t quite managed it. “Yes.”

“He’s here.”

That was never good. “Where?”

Howard waved vaguely out the door. “On base, a few buildings down. Coulson just reported them.”

That sounded like it was getting worse. “ _Them_?”

“Mmm. Selvig’s there with his mini-physicist and their assistant.” Howard paused. “They’re pretty hot, Selvig aside. If you’re anything like me at your age…”

“I like to think I’m not,” Tony interrupted him, a little defensively. Howard smirked, making Tony bristle harder. “And I’ve already _been_ your age.” Chronologically, at least.

Bruce stepped between them. “Tony, focus. Do you want to see your brother or not?”

“Hey, I wasn’t necessarily going to offer–”

“Yes, thanks Bruce,” Tony said, refocusing and turning to Howard. “I demand you take me to my brother, before this little game of yours becomes an inter-Realm incident.”

“We don’t want that,” Coulson assured him, having walked in at the end of Tony’s speech. “But your brother has proven himself… skilled beyond expectations.”

Tony snorted. “What, at hitting things?”

“Exactly,” Coulson said serenely. “Mr. Stark has pushed forward a few theories, and they explain some things. But there are other theories as well, and we have to take all of them into consideration.”

“You really don’t,” Howard pointed out. “You could exclude those ‘theories’ that have nothing backing them up but speculation and listen to the teams of scientists you’ve gathered together who tell you that both ‘Donald Blake’ and that hammer are made of things not found on Earth.”

Tony frowned. “Donald Blake?”

“Your brother’s pseudonym,” Howard said. “As if we didn’t have the hospital records from before he had reasons to lie.”

“Thor doesn’t lie.”

Howard laughed and Coulson sighed. “Either way, Mr. Odinson, he is going under the name Donald Blake for now, and we’re more than happy to let him. I’m here to escort you to him, if you like.”

Tony eyed him for a moment. There didn’t seem to be any trace of handcuffs, although Coulson was armed with at least three weapons that Tony could see. “Very well.”

Bruce tagged along, replaced at his station by the rather more timid Ken Williams, and two more people joined them – a red-headed woman who smiled shyly at Tony before looking away, seemingly awed by him, and a stone-faced, sharp-eyed man who was _significantly_ more armed than Coulson. They moved together, and around Coulson, with an air of familiarity that proved, even more than the S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms they wore, that they were working together, and used to working together.

Tony appreciated the woman, at least. She was the first person, even more so than Selvig and his women, who had reacted appropriately to a prince of Asgard. Still, she had an air of competence that reassured Tony that she knew what she was doing, as did everyone Tony had thus far met.

They were Midgardians, weak and short-lived and ignorant, but Tony had rarely seen a royal guard or elite force that oozed such a self-contained aura of aptitude. Maybe it was because they specialized, each person doing their job, unable to take on any other tasks. Perhaps it was the layers of redundancy and overlap of skills, such that someone like Bruce could take over the simpler part of Ken William’s because while their roles were so different the work was similar.

And maybe, just maybe, being weak and short-lived and ignorant just meant that the Midgardians had more to prove.

Hearing what had happened when Thor introduced himself to S.H.I.E.L.D., only proved to Tony that the Midgardians did have pride, and Thor had trampled it somewhat by the ease with which he’d singlehandedly stormed their castle.

Not the first time Thor had done so, and usually things turned out surprisingly well. He made more friends by blundering through people in an impressive manner than Tony did with his charm and wit. From what Tony could tell, he was well on his way to impressing the sharp-eyed Clint Barton, although the shy and lovely Natalia still seemed more taken with Tony himself.

Coulson just seemed exasperated with the lot of them.

Tony could sympathize, somewhat. Thor was his own kind of exasperating, and Tony had honestly hoped that just this once, Thor would have stepped back and let Tony lead. But that wasn’t his way, and Tony should really have expected that.

In fact, despite the Midgardian science’s results preying on Tony’s mind, the first thing he felt when he saw Thor, sitting with Jane and Darcy while Selvig paced impatiently, was a surge of irritation.

“You couldn’t just leave things alone, could you? You couldn’t just trust that I’d manage this on my own.”

Thor’s face lit up. “Brother!” He rose from his chair, rushing forward to embrace Tony, Jane and Darcy close on his heels. “We feared the worst. It is good to see you well and free.” The last word was spoken with a faint, angry rumble, clearly directed at Tony’s ‘entourage’.

“He’s as free as you are, Dr. Blake,” Coulson said calmly, the implication of Thor’s own captivity flying easily over Thor’s head as he relaxed.

Tony, meanwhile was both impressed at Thor’s ability to maintain his deception, and once again annoyed that Thor had managed to follow someone _else’s_ lead, and not Tony’s.

For the first time, the thought of not being Thor’s brother seemed to be a blessing as much as a curse. True, it would paint Tony’s entire childhood and relationships false, but it also meant that Tony would turn from the weak little brother who’d nearly broken his neck on Asgard’s glorious walls in his first suit (a perfectly appropriate troubleshooting method, Tony maintained) into a true companion, rather than a natural follower, someone to protect.

It wouldn’t change everything. Thor would always be protective, and Tony would naturally defer to his elder brother unless he really couldn’t, but they could do so as friends, rather than as brothers.

And it explained a lot – why Tony never had the strength or endurance (or stature) of his kin, why his mind worked differently and faster, why magic seemed as foreign to him as table manners to Volstagg or restraint to Fandral. His parents had always assured him that he had his own strengths, that he needn’t worry about what he lacked, that he was different and special, not lesser.

No, not being Thor’s brother wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Being Midgardian, on the other hand…

Tony had grown up with the tales of the vicious, selfish, small-minded creatures. But none of the Midgardians in those stories ever had the brilliant curiosity of Lady Jane, or the cheerful tenacity of Lady Darcy, or even the gruff protective affection of Erik Selvig. They never spoke of the Midgardian brilliance for innovation, embodied in Howard Stark, the drive for excellence that each Midgardian seemed to follow in their own way.

For them, life was a constant series of challenges. They were… impressive in their way, as they struggled and scrambled and lived their short, meaningless lives to the hilt.

And Tony realized that he could easily imagine counting himself amongst their number. If it came down to that.

“Would it be possible for Thor to access Mjölnir?” Tony asked, focusing on the one problem they could fix, shelving his own problems in favour of fixing Thor’s.

Coulson shrugged. “The hammer? He already has.”

That was unfortunate. Thor looked shamed. “Whatever quest father has set out for me, I haven’t achieved it.” He brightened. “Jane and Darcy have made several suggestions!”

Now it was Jane and Darcy’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Look,” Darcy said, “Thor told us about his oath and your dad, and we figured he needed to learn how to serve the little people.”

And they certainly couldn’t get any littler than Midgardians. Thor beamed. “They have suggested something called ‘community service’, brother.”

Tony rolled his eyes. He too wanted Thor to turn towards public service rather than constantly playing at adventuring, but… “I seriously doubt father wanted you to follow some Midgardian concept to regain your powers.”

“Midgardian?” Thor asked.

Ah. Right. Thor hadn’t yet figured out they were on Midgard, still thinking that ‘America’ was the name of this Realm, and not merely a province within it. “I had wanted to tell you somewhat more gently…”

“This is _Midgard_?”

Suddenly, Barton had a gun trained on Thor, as did the lovely Natalia, who looked significantly less doe-eyed and placid than before. Coulson held out a restraining hand, but the tension in the room had racketed up enough that even that didn’t calm the two of them.

Thor, for his part, looked furious.

“It’s just a misunderstanding, Thor,” Tony tried to reassure him, speaking as quickly and calmly as possible. “Yes, this is Midgard, but it has changed over the years. Look at the welcome they gave us, compared to the attempted genocide of the Jötnar.” He got a lot of funny looks for that, and decided that now was not a great time for a history lesson. “You have found allies, even friends here. We have always known Midgardians to be the most fickle and changeable of people. Perhaps this time they have changed for the better.”

“Thanks,” Coulson said, dryly. “I think.”

Thor seemed to calm as he saw Jane and Darcy, both of whom looked more startled than anything else, but had stepped forward to defend Thor the moment the guns came out. Brave; stupid, but brave, both of them. “And you, brother,” Thor said. “They had you taken away from us, chained you and imprisoned you. Do you truly see them as other than the monsters we read and heard about?”

“I kind of have to,” Tony said wryly, shrugging. “The point is we need to think like father.” He winced. “Like the Allfather. What would _he_ want from his heir?”

Thor frowned. “…I wish we had Loki here. He’s the only king I know who can explain things clearly.”

“If I may,” Coulson interjected as Barton and Natalia holstered their weapons at the same moment, as if moving in tandem to some unseen signal. “We might have some insight we can bring to bear. If you are truly the same Thor who figures in Norse legends, and your father is the same Odin, we have experts who can piece together a few possible scenarios.”

Midgardian experts on Asgard. Tony was less than hopeful. Still, what other options did they have? “We will speak to these experts.” Thor’s stomach rumbled, and Tony continued without missing a beat. “After breakfast.”

Coulson cracked a half-smile. “The mess is this way.” He looked over at Thor. “Try not to beat anyone up on the way.”

Tony just raised an eyebrow at his brother, silently demanding explanations in the future, to which Thor grinned and shrugged, indicating that the story would be an interesting one.

Midgardian or not, that connection, the closeness that he and Thor shared, would never go away. Tony kept reminding himself of that, comforting himself.

It stopped him from angrily, _uselessly_ , resenting the hell out of Thor. It distracted him from thinking about how none of this would have happened if Thor hadn’t been found wanting. And it prevented him from fretting over what was to come of him once he confronted the Allfather with what he knew.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

“I spoke with Thrym.”

Loki looked up from his spellbook as Angrboda walked in without waiting for an invitation. He smiled, distractedly. “Good, you’re here, I could use another pair of eyes…”

Angrboda slammed the spellbook shut, nearly catching his fingers. “War, Loki?”

Loki winced. “King Malekith…”

“Should rot for a thousand years on the carcass of his most beloved steed for what he did to you, but _war_?” Angrboda demanded, getting angrier. “We’re not prepared, we’re not strong enough, and if they were blatant enough to take you, then they _are_. You can’t ask your armies, your sorcerers, your _people_ to follow you to a hopeless death, with no chance of victory!”

“Asgard…”

Angrboda snorted. “Asgard is ruled by the Allmother, she does not make war. Because she is sensible and wise, and you’re a boy to her. If she tells you no, then _listen_ , my foolish king.”

“Skrymir…”

“Agrees that war is not the answer. Thrym hungers for revenge, for the chance to make up for his fault, but even he is reluctant. You’re better, smarter, cleverer than this, Loki.”

Loki finally shook off the shock of being lectured by a woman who was technically one of his servants. “If it pleases the Lady Angrboda, may I finish a sentence?”

As angry and upset as she was, Angrboda immediately flushed and ducked her head at the reprimand. “I apologize, Loki-king.”

Loki let her stew for a moment.

“Malekith plans to move against Asgard. I’ve told no one of this, and only Skrymir knows. Malekith plans to topple the Golden Realm and set himself up as the next Allfather.”

“Loki…”

Loki had a strange relationship with Odin. Ignored or scorned by his own father, Loki had grown up hearing tales of how the Allfather had saved him, cradling him in one hand while carrying the Tesseract in the other as he removed his armies and the wounded Jötnar from Midgard. At the same time, Loki was Odin’s brother-king, an equal in all but strength and power, despite the huge debt that lay between them. A debt that Loki resented even as he treasured it.

“I know we’re not Asgard,” Loki said softly. “We are not a conquered nation, but we are a subjugated one. I could… I _should_ petition Asgard for protection, telling them of what I learned when Malekith held me prisoner. But I… I cannot _beg_. I cannot run crying to Asgard’s skirts because I was bullied. I have no proof of these accusations, and kings are not permitted the right of _hólmganga_ against each other. There is no honourable recourse but war.”

“Honourable?” Angrboda scoffed. “Is this the Loki who disguised Thor as a woman to get his hammer back? Is this the Loki who, starving, offered the challenge of an eating contest to earn hospitality? _Honourable_? You would risk everything we have built, a society that is only now learning of comfort under its gentle, clever ruler, for _honour_?”

Loki looked at her. “If not for honour, to earn a place beside, not beneath, the greatest of all the Realms, then for what?”

Angrboda sighed. “Have a child, and then ask that question.”

“I can’t.” Loki laughed,bitterly. “I can’t because I have to watch for bastards, an Asgardian concept, for fear that they would challenge for a throne that should be gained by _worth_ , not merely by right of birth. I can’t because my marriage bed has to be saved for someone who can benefit Jötunheim, rather than taking royal consorts who would benefit my line. I can’t because Asgard would _never_ dictate what I can and cannot do, and yet to guard against their disappointment and confusion, I must follow their ways.” He took a deep breath. “Malekith offered me a place by his side, rising up against Asgard, and I was tempted, Angrboda. I owe my very life to the Allfather, and I could imagine him dead at my feet and all I felt was the desire for freedom, for the power to make my own way.”

“But you turned him down,” Angrboda said, sounding almost completely certain.

Loki nodded. “I don’t want freedom at that price. But I do want it. I want it for me and for my people. Having had it taken away, I want it more than ever. At almost any other price.”

Angrboda shook her head. “Some prices are higher than we can pay.” She bowed. “But I’ll never convince you of that unless you see it for yourself. And, as ever, I serve at the pleasure of my king.”

Loki smiled. “Thank you.”

Dismissed, Angrboda turned to leave. She paused at the door. “You said Skrymir knew about Malekith’s plans?”

“Hmm?” Loki had already turned back to his spellbook, lost in the nuances of charming enemies to turn on their comrades. “Yes. But you’re the first I told, I assure you.”

Angrboda nodded and left, closing her king’s door behind her and turning to the guards stationed there. “Let no one pass until I return. If Loki-king wants to leave, accompany him.”

The guards looked at each other, nervously. Despite having a relatively low rank, Angrboda was their king’s obvious favourite. Disobeying her would be a very risky action, with unforeseeable consequences.

They bowed. “Of course, my lady.”


	10. Betrayal

The Casket. Loki looked up from his spellbook with a dark smile. Of course, it all came down to the Casket. Even Laufey could have conquered worlds (or at least Midgard) with its power, had he been so inclined. Loki, gifted with magic beyond any of his forefathers since the great Ymir himself, could do so much more.

The Casket of Ancient Winters was Jötunheim’s heart. To take it away, to use it for war, would be like turning the bifröst into a weapon. It was sacrilege, unthinkable.

Loki was thinking about it.

It was what Malekith had planned to do, and the thought had turned Loki’s stomach to the point that he’d endured torture and pain to prevent it. But he wasn’t Malekith, and he would, of course, return the Casket as soon as he was finished with it.

As soon as he was finished with Svartálfaheim.

With Malekith.

Using the Casket and his own abilities, he could fight his necessary war and prevent unnecessary deaths. Of his own people, at least. Dark elves would fall in droves at his feet, crying out for their unfeeling, ruthless master.

They should have known better than to put their faith in a monster like Malekith. King or no, he was not a leader to blindly follow.

Loki closed the spellbook, satisfied with his solution. He would have Thrym ready the army and declare war by the end of the day. While the attention of the Nine Realms was focused on Jötunheim’s army and not its small, insignificant king, Loki would use the Casket and attack. It would be completely legal, an attack during a war, if not the attack everyone expected. Once the dark elves’ defences were down, the army could swoop in and finish the job.

Hopefully leaving Malekith alive to answer for his crimes against Loki, and his plotting against Asgard and the Allfather.

Jötunheim would be seen as a power, on par with Asgard, and willing to protect the Golden Realm as an equal ally, and Loki would be free to rule as he desired. His people could live as they chose, whether that meant conforming to Asgardian or Vanir customs, or isolating themselves and living as the Old Ones had, deep in Jötunheim’s frosted land. Either way, there would be no judgement from the warm-blooded Realms that could affect them.

They would be free, Loki would be free. And vengeance would be his.

He barely noticed the pair of guards who followed him as he left his rooms, making his way back towards the temple and the Casket. He wasn’t usually escorted through the palace grounds, but after a kidnapping, perhaps more caution wasn’t such a bad thing, no matter who thought of it. They hesitated and then stopped at the edge of the temple, forbidden to pass without proper cleansing rituals. This was a place of sanctuary, and not even royal guards would dare defile it.

Loki kept going, purified by the royal blood that ran in his veins and by the link he shared with the Casket. This was where he belonged, even more so than the throne room surrounded by couriers and nobles. This was Jötunheim’s true seat of power, and Loki would wield it for justice and with honour.

The temple, usually only sparsely populated outside of religious festivals, was completely deserted. It lent an air of solemnity to Loki’s walk, as he strode towards the alter where the Casket sat. His footsteps, although nearly silent, were the only sounds in the empty temple, certain and sure and steady. He would take what he needed to secure Jötunheim’s future, the power of the Casket.

It glowed pleasantly at him, waiting patiently for him to take it up and wield it. While it was constantly being used to guard and protect Jötunheim, the Casket was rarely actively wielded. It seemed to almost hum with anticipation, echoing its master’s desire.

Loki reached for it, his hand getting just close enough to feel the tingle of magical energy, when physical and magical tendrils shot out from the walls, holding him firmly in place, mere inches away from the source of his Realm’s power.

“No, Loki.”

Loki opened his mouth, and his tongue was suddenly nothing more than dead weight. Skrymir stepped forward, flanked by two dark elves, sorcerers both.

Skrymir smiled. “I may not be a mage, but I know you can’t cast if you can’t speak or move.” He reached out and undid Loki’s vest, exposing his chest. “Ah, a true work of art, I’m assured. Nothing so simple and mundane as these crass chains, and yet…” He shrugged. “And yet you are at their mercy.” _At_ my _mercy_ , was left unsaid but strongly implied.

Loki writhed silently, desperate to escape, but unable to budge the chains even enough to twist away as Skrymir caressed his face.

“Malekith should have just killed you. I would have rallied the Casket and all of Jötunheim to his cause, but he was greedy, didn’t want to share the glory.” He looked over his shoulder, at the two dark elf mages. “Fortunately, he’s changed his mind since your escape.” He leaned in and kissed Loki’s forehead. “Thank you for that, my boy.”

A small, pained sound escaped from Loki’s throat. If he’d been anything but a Jötunn, his cheeks would probably have been wet with tears.

Skrymir drew a small, silver blade from its sheath. “Asgard is weakened, with the Allfather in the Odinsleep and his sons stranded on Midgard. If you were half the giant your father was, you would have made your move by now already.” He trailed the blade over Loki’s cheek, past his jaw and down his neck. “But you haven’t.” Loki managed a quiet whimper again as the blade stopped, not over his heart, but over the core of the runes he had burnt into his flesh. “And now you never will.”

Loki wanted to ask why – why Skrymir felt he needed to do this, why he hadn’t come to Loki with his concerns if he hated Asgard so much, why he chose betrayal. But there was a look in Skrymir’s eyes that answered that unasked question, a look that Loki had seen hundreds of times before and ignored.

Resentment. Jealousy. And something akin to hatred.

Loki had taken the throne, had worked to raise Jötunheim up to Asgard’s standards rather than cutting Asgard down to theirs. Through Loki’s influence, Jötunheim had gotten gentler, softer with the trade of Asgardian and Vanir goods. They were still a warrior race, but their children were growing up to be merchants, farmers, healers, as well as soldiers and sorcerers.

Things were changing, and those in power tended to fear change.

And that fear had been in Skrymir’s eyes every time he looked at Loki. Loki had simply chosen not to see it, choosing instead to see his mentor and friend.

Skrymir smiled, cold and cruel. “You understand now, don’t you? It’s such a pity; had you proven more tractable… Ah well.” Skrymir slashed the silver blade over Loki’s runes and a wave of nausea and weakness over came him as his spells unravelled, releasing Malekith’s magics. “Apparently, all I have to do is mar these enough–” another slash, more blood, and more weakness “–and just leave you here.”

Loki felt as if he was falling; his vision went grey, his breathing stuttered, and he went limp in his restraints. He could hear, as if from a distance, Skrymir’s deep chuckle as he cut Loki down, letting him fall to the ground in an undignified heap.

“Loki the Unwanted,” Skrymir said. “Loki the Better-Off-Dead.”

Cold was a sensation unknown to most Jötnar. Loki recognized it and knew that it was a bad sign indeed. He blinked, long and slow, and just before his vision faded, he watched Skrymir pick up the Casket and open a portal, stepping through and leaving his two sorcerers with Loki.

And then everything went black.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

“–tend to appear to be feats of strength, but end up being trials of perception.”

Thor’s eyes looked glazed as one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s ‘Norse/Asgardian experts’ explained about the trials Thor had undergone in myth. Tony couldn’t really blame him – while the stories themselves seemed interesting enough, the bland recitation, lacking rhythm and rhyme and all sense of grandiosity, sapped the life from the tales.

The inestimable Pepper Potts had spirited Howard away (to Tony’s secret relief, as the man’s speculative, almost avaricious gaze had began to wear on him) and Bruce was back at his work, but Jane and Darcy and Selvig accompanied them, along with Agent Coulson, to discuss possible interpretations of Odin’s edict and Thor’s oaths.

This latest one seemed to think that it was Thor’s lot to be given seemingly straightforward tasks, that turn out to be either impossible or more than they seem, although Tony was beginning to suspect that either that was to make a more amusing story, or some sort of bastardized versions of real quests Loki had given Thor, for the amusement of watching him flail.

In fact, in many of the stories, Loki was Thor’s companion; part ally, part adversary. It was amusing.

And accurate.

Selvig frowned as the ‘expert’ paused for breath. “So you’re saying that there’s a subtle quest here, or one that’s impossible to achieve, and defeat is the only way to make it out?”

Tony answered before anyone else could. “The Allfather doesn’t work that way. He made it clear that the reason he sent Thor here was to gain understanding of his pledge. That is the goal he set out, and that is what Thor needs to achieve.”

“Then why did you guys think all you needed was to get to the hammer?” Darcy asked reasonably.

Tony shrugged. “I didn’t think it was an actual test. I thought father was just giving us… well, Thor, one last chance at an adventure.”

“Aww. That’s sweet.” Darcy smiled. “Too bad he really did think you needed to smarten up.”

Thor winced. “Indeed, Lady Darcy.” Jane reached out to rub Thor’s arm comfortingly and Thor smiled at her.

Coulson’s phone rang and he stepped aside to take the call as Tony returned to the issue at hand. “You know, Jane and Darcy’s theory about community service is sounding more and more plausible as we go.” Darcy preened under the praise.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. expert shook his head. “There’s no evidence that such actions were considered praise-worthy.”

“True enough,” Tony said. From the descriptions he’d been given, most of the community service seemed like woman’s work or servant’s work. “What the Allfather truly wanted, at least what I gathered from my conversations with him, was for Thor to–”

“We have a situation,” Coulson interrupted him. “Do either of you have any familiarity with a race of blue giants?”

Thor and Tony looked at each other. “Frost giants?” Thor asked.

Tony shrugged. “They wouldn’t come to Midgard without a very good reason.”

“A reason we should be worried about?” Coulson pressed.

Tony didn’t think so. It had been a few days, at least by Midgard’s reckoning of time since Thor’s planned coronation, and by now Loki should have figured out where they were, even if it was being kept a secret. He was good at things like that. If this was his way of making a surprise visit…

“We should definitely go see what they want,” Tony said.

They all piled into two of the black SUVs (not the same as Jane’s van, Tony was learning) and drove out in a convoy of diplomats and negotiators and translators, despite the fact that Tony and Thor had assured them that the Jötnar used the Allspeak as well. And then had to explain the Allspeak. It was interesting, watching Coulson’s face as he realized how ridiculous it had been to assume that aliens from another world would speak English.

The bifröst site was in the middle of a desert, marking one of the easiest landing points of inter-Realm travel on Midgard. The convoy drove out there, away from the small collection of tents and temporary buildings, and moderately closer to the township. Tony bit his lip and hoped that they got there first – the odds of the Midgardians rallying together to attack the visiting giant (or giants) may not have been as high as when this Realm was ruled by barbaric xenophobes, but they weren’t exactly non-existent either.

That, and the hot weather would undoubtedly make the Jötnar short-tempered before long.

As soon as the vehicles pulled up to the bifröst site, Tony hopped out, immediately making his way towards the twelve-foot-tall frost giant, standing alone.

Not Loki, then. Perhaps an advance guard? Although he looked somewhat familiar…

“Skrymir?”

The Jötunn turned, and Tony could see that he’d been correct. Thor, at Tony’s side, moved forward, his arms open and a large smile on his face. “It is good to see you, Skrymir-friend. What brings you to Midgard?”

“My, how very… modest, Prince Thor. What could possibly have brought me here save for you and your brother?”

Behind them, Coulson was ordering his men to stand down, and Tony relaxed. “Do you bring word from the Allfather or from Loki-king?” He shrugged wryly. “We’ve a small dilemma here, in that we’ve no idea how to get Mjölnir back.”

“I’ve heard,” Skrymir said, looming over them. “The Mighty Thor, with his might removed, and the Clever Tony, without his usual toys. Your father lies in the Odinsleep, your mother rules Asgard.” Thor’s fists clenched and Tony felt his stomach lurch with anxiety over the parents who had raised him, and with renewed hurt and anger over the lack of answers to his concerns. “Heimdall watches over us all, but seeing and knowing is useless if there is no one to act on what is seen and known.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked.

Thor interrupted him. “Then I _must_ get Mjölnir back, Skrymir! Asgard has need of me.”

“Oh, indeed it does,” Skrymir agreed smoothly. “More than ever, Asgard needs its princes. And yet here they are; defenceless and alone, stranded on a Realm that has no idea what they are or what their worth is.” His hands moved smoothly, calling up a small container that glowed blue from the power it held.

“The Casket of Ancient Winters?” Tony breathed, awed. He’d never seen it before.

Thor, surprisingly, made the connection before Tony did. “Where is Loki, that you’re able to wield the Casket?”

Skrymir laughed, deep and menacing. “That, my powerless little princeling, is the _least_ of your concerns!”

Tony had a bad feeling about this.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

Wake up, you useless bull’s tit!”

Loki tried, he really did, but he wasn’t fast enough to prevent the stinging slap that rocked his head back. “’M up!”

Angrboda sat back, breathing out a huge sigh of relief. Or exasperation. Loki liked to think it was relief. “Finally. We thought we’d lost you. You were burning up.”

Loki believed her. He felt like he’d been pulled apart and put back together. For a moment, he couldn’t remember what had happened, what he was doing in the temple, why he felt this way.

And then he did. “Skrymir!”

“He’s gone, with the Casket,” Angrboda said darkly. “I should have known, he was far too quick to try to take it up when you were gone, and something was off when you returned and…”

Loki forced himself to sit up, despite the pain and shivering that made it difficult. “Where did…” Only then did it hit him that he felt _cold_. He looked down at his hands, pink and pale, and then back up to Angrboda. “What is this?”

“He marred the runes, and you were dying,” Angrboda said, her voice hard and controlled. “I healed you, careful to leave the runes intact, but you were still so hot after… your body chose this form, once your magic returned.”

Ugh. Loki grudgingly used some more of his relatively weakened power to dress himself, choosing the green and black armour Tony had made for him. He felt warmer. “Where did Skrymir go?”

Angrboda shook her head in ignorance. One of the other sorcerers spoke up. “Midgard. He took the Casket to Midgard.”

There was anger in the sorcerer’s voice, betrayal. Loki hadn’t, until that moment, been sure if his people would have sided with him or with Skrymir’s ambitions.

It turned out that, to the magic users, at least, stealing the source of Jötunheim’s power was an unforgivable crime. Loki ignored the fact that he’d almost done the same thing himself, for a different reason. The relief that Loki felt, that his people were still with him, was fast washed away by the realization of where, exactly Skrymir had gone.

“Midgard? Isn’t that where Thor and Tony were banished?”

“You don’t think…” Angrboda trailed off. Of course that was what Loki thought. It was the only reason to travel to that backwater planet.

Another of Loki’s sorcerer’s came forward. “Loki-king, without the Casket, we can’t transport anyone anywhere. Especially not to a Realm so rarely visited as Midgard.”

“I can go,” Loki said.

Angrboda and Thrym, who had just entered the room shook their heads as one. “No, Loki.”

“I’m getting a little tired of being told that,” Loki growled at them.

Thrym looked at Loki, his eyes hard. “We almost lost you, twice, within the span of a few days. I’m not risking that again.”

“You’re overstepping your bounds,” Loki said. He counted Thrym as a friend, as he’d counted Skrymir, but Loki was king. He should have made that clearer earlier, and then maybe all this wouldn’t have happened.

Kings did not have ‘friends’. They had allies and subordinates and traitors.

Angrboda stepped between them as Thrym moved forward in frustrated fear and concern. “Fine, Loki-king, you’re right. We have no place telling you what you can and cannot do. But, please, for your sake and the sake of your people’s faith, take us with you.”

A part of Loki wanted to. He was weak and in pain, trapped in a form that could better deal with the heat coursing through his body, a form that was just dissimilar enough from his own to be uncomfortable. But another part of him still ached from Skrymir’s betrayal, and wanted nothing to do with anyone he’d ever placed his trust in, anyone he’d ever loved and who’d made him feel loved in return.

Not that it mattered. “I can’t. I don’t have the power to transport anyone other than myself through the rifts between Realms.” That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to go, however. He turned to the nearest sorcerer. “Focus your attention on getting a message to Asgard. As long as the bifröst is functioning, they have the means to aid us, and their own sons.” Heimdall might have disliked Loki, an irrational disdain that Loki returned, but he took his responsibilities as guardian seriously.

“You’re still weak,” Thrym insisted. “You can’t do this on your own.”

“Tony and Thor are trapped on Midgard, powerless, facing an enemy of my own people with my own Casket,” Loki said, his voice hard. “I can do nothing else.”

The path Skrymir had taken still shone faintly to Loki’s magical senses. He closed his eyes and tuned himself into the path, letting his own magics merge with the leftovers from the Casket, and let himself fall.

He landed on Midgard, in a desert, with the unmistakable sensation of the Casket of Ancient Winters about to be released pulling on his senses.


	11. Battle

Thor had never known fear like this.

He’d been in dangerous positions before, but always with the rush of adrenaline and the joy of battle coursing through his veins.

Never anything like this; standing defenceless as a former ally and even possibly _friend_ stood before him as a threat and enemy, relishing his inevitable victory while Thor could do nothing more than stand helplessly and watch it happen.

Behind his back, he could sense Tony’s hesitation. Usually, his clever younger brother would be shouting ideas, plans, orders, and Thor would follow them (unless he didn’t want to) to glorious victory. Now, however, Tony’s glib voice was silent, and he backed up a pace, then two, retreating without outright running.

It was truly hopeless.

Skrymir held up the Casket of Ancient Winters and began to call up the frost, clearly uninterested in further banter. The Casket reacted grudgingly, sputtering and stirring up the essence of cold at Skrymir’s command, but reluctantly.

Odin’s spear, Gungnir, was similar to the Casket, so Thor had some understanding of them. Once Odin died, the spear would be passed to the next Allfather. While in Odinsleep, however, the spear was similarly wielded by his heir (Frigga, usually) until he woke. Thor hadn’t seen his mother use Gungnir often, but whenever she did, the magic flowed weaker, more stilted, as if resenting being used by anyone other than it’s rightful owner, even his chosen representative.

That the Casket would act so, despite the fact that it was in Skrymir’s hands, meant that Loki was still alive, that the Casket felt that it was being loaned, not owned. As Thor waited for Skrymir’s attack, he took some comfort in that.

…unless Loki had ordered Skrymir to attack Asgard’s princes. If that was the case, then Thor was determined to forgo Valhalla’s rewards for a few centuries in return for the chance to haunt that Frost Giant runt.

He braced himself, for what little good it would do against the Casket’s magic, when the crack of an inter-Realm portal resounded over the desert. He heard Tony’s relieved exhale and, oddly paired with it, the sound of his brother retreating towards the black cars. He opened his eyes to find Loki, his tiny six-foot frame dark-haired and pale-skinned, standing before Skrymir, blocking the power of the Casket without letting it touch him and change his form.

“Stop this!” Loki yelled. “You do nothing but multiply your crimes, and your enemies.”

“They should have been _your_ enemies, too!” Skrymir roared back, redoubling his efforts with the Casket, which seemed less and less pleased to be used. “But you bowed your head and smiled and catered to every Asgardian and Vanir and Elven whim! You took your people, already lowered in the eyes of the other Realms, and lowered them further. You are no fit king, Loki. I served your father and your father’s people, and watching you throw away every dignity we’d won was more than I could bear!”

The two of them seemed to have forgotten that Thor was even there. Tony, on the other hand, wasn’t, having absconded with one of the black chariots used to transport them here.

Thor could do nothing but watch as Loki and Skrymir clashed, their anger and feelings of betrayal making their fight somewhat more wild and vicious than their usual subtle natures would have made it.

Jane grabbed Thor’s arm. “What’s happening?” Thor had forgotten Jane was there, with Darcy and Selvig and Coulson. He might not have had the power to fight in the battle between the Frost Giants, but he had the knowledge to help protect the helpless… Midgardians.

It didn’t matter what they were. They were his friends – gentle and kind and patient and not worthy of being crushed in a battle between two more powerful beings, no matter their race.

“We must get the others to safety,” Thor said urgently. “Is there anything resembling cover in this damnable Realm?”

Jane’s eyes focused as the panic wore off and she started problem solving. “It’s a desert, Thor, there isn’t much in terms of topography. The SUVs…”

There was a flash of blue meeting a rush of green, and a large explosion that very nearly knocked Thor and Jane off their feet. Jane grabbed onto Thor to steady herself, and Thor could feel her heart racing, pounding against his skin like a frightened bird’s.

He would protect her, this beautiful, vulnerable Midgardian woman. At any price.

Coulson caught up to them, talking rapidly into a radio and only stopping once he came abreast of Thor. “Your brother stole one of my vans and your ‘friendly’ blue aliens are lighting up my sky. Explanations would be appreciated.”

He seemed  remarkably unshaken – annoyed more than frightened, yelling only to be heard over the sounds of battle. Thor thrust Jane into his arms. “Take them and return to your base. Tony will be there, likely,” there were no other places for his brother to go, and Tony was no coward, “and you can ask him your questions there.”

“We’re not just leaving you, Thor!” Jane protested, even as Coulson pulled her away.

Thor shook his head. “You needn’t worry. Their attention is on each other. I will remain to transmit information as the situation changes.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “For now, you need to get to my brother for more information.”

That was enough to convince Coulson. “Dr. Foster, we have to leave.” Selvig had already pulled Darcy into the back seat. “ _Now_.”

Jane, despite the clear and obvious danger, despite the pressure of everyone around her and her own common sense, hesitated. “Thor…”

Thor smiled at the care she showed him, this smile coming easier than the others. “Go now, Lady Jane. Know I will return for you.”

After one more beat of hesitation, Jane nodded. Thor turned to face the two Jötnar fighting.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

The operation of the S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles seemed incredibly simple when Tony had watched the drivers on his way to the base. It wasn’t _quite_ as straightforward – the accelerators and breaks were pressure-sensitive rather than simple on/off levers, and the steering was similarly subtle – but it took Tony less than the drive from the bifröst site back to the base to achieve near-perfect control.

Which made the reception he received, of armed guards yelling at him with their guns drawn, rather more than he expected.

Not that it mattered. He was here as the guest of the highest in this Realm. They wouldn’t shoot without provocation. Tony disembarked from the vehicle with his arms up, showing that he was unarmed, but as soon as two of the guards dared approach him, he’d had enough.

“Stop!” The command rang out with the force of a thousand years of authority as a prince amongst warriors. Even the most hardened hesitated at Tony’s order. “There is conflict at the bifröst site, and I require the use of your laboratories to arm myself.”

“Arm yourself? With what?” One of the more intrepid (or highly ranked) guards rallied himself in the face of Tony’s utter certainty.

Tony lowered his arms, encouraged when nothing happened. “With nothing you’ve ever seen or even contemplated.” He couldn’t have done this on his own, no matter how much of a genius he thought himself, but the Midgardians had short cuts, much in the way Asgardians and the other, superior races had magic.

Odin had taken away the Tesseract, Midgard’s magical soul. But the humans had managed to work around that, turning computers and science into their magic. Only this magic, unlike any other, Tony could harness and wield, and it would offer him what he needed to return to battle, armed and prepared to secure victory.

“Your leaders have chose to place their trust in me. Either follow their lead and allow me to the labs, or take me to a cell and watch your planet fall under an alien invasion.”

He might have been exaggerating somewhat, but he’d gathered something about the Midgardians and their worries about him and Thor, and he figured out a few of their buttons to push.

One of the other guards whispered something to another, about Howard and Tony and heirs, and suddenly the atmosphere changed from challenging to uncertain. Tony took advantage of the lull and walked forward, as if he’d been given the right, and the guards gave way to him.

Brilliant. Now all Tony had to was design and create a suit of armour that could withstand Frost Giant magics and some way to power it, now that he was stripped of all his magical items he used to power his other suits.

And all within the minutes it would take for Loki and Skrymir to finish their battle, one way or another.

Tony could feel his blood racing, certain he was up to this task. He’d done more impossible things, with fates less important hanging in the balance, and the challenge was as invigorating as the new paradigms were intimidating.

Tony didn’t do intimidation well. He’d master these computers and the secrets they held, and he would create wonderful things with them, marvels of engineering and design.

He stormed into the laboratory, with the computers and the machines and the busy, bustling Midgardians, and took in a deep breath, feeling oddly at home.

And then he got to work. “Get out! Every one of you! There is an imminent alien invasion, find your loved ones and flee!”

The scientists and engineers didn’t even hesitate. With the efficiency of soldiers acting out a drill, they dropped what they were doing and filed out. Tony looked through them, disappointed that Bruce wasn’t among them, and nearly jumped out of his skin as a mournful siren began to wail and the lighting turned red.

Still, the computers worked, and the serenade of sirens only emphasised the urgency of Tony’s work.

He’d had minutes to figure out how the vans worked, and hours to figure out the computers. They used a different language, but the Allspeak ensured that Tony caught onto it quickly, learning the grammar and syntax that the computers liked best, what words and commands made the machines do what he wanted.

The materials were substandard. Tony reluctantly settled for a gold-titanium alloy and his fingers flew over the keyboards, then adjusted the holograms, then ordered the final product to be made. The suit wouldn’t be pretty, but it would be functional. It was a fortunate thing that the Midgardians had the rudimentary basics of flight propulsion already prepared, and the thrusters (while not made of the alloy and by far the most vulnerable parts of the suit) would simply have to be placed in the suit, and not assembled from scratch.

Now, to find a power source…

“What the hell are you doing in here? Coulson just debriefed me; you ran off, abandoning your brother and everyone?”

Tony shrugged at Howard’s incredulous question. “Couldn’t have done anything for them. Will be able to soon.” He looked up, frustrated at his calculations. “What do you have that can generate three gigajoules per second of energy and fit in the palm of my hand?”

Howard snorted. “You might be a coward, but you sure as hell don’t think small. Nothing. Not even nuclear power can be that contained with current technology.”

 _Nuclear power_. The harnessing of the renting of the most basic building blocks of matter. Heimdall had informed Odin when Midgard had achieved that, destroying cities and killing thousands in a single blow. At first, it had seemed to be only a weapon, but the Midgardians had managed to harness that power for energy, making it more like the Casket or the bifröst – capable of great destruction, but also a warm light to chase away the darkness. Tony sighed. If that, Midgard’s greatest achievement in energy, wasn’t enough, then…

“The Arc Reactor would do it,” Howard said. “But it’s the size of a truck.”

Tony latched onto that. “Tell me more about this Arc Reactor.”

Howard did, describing the theory and practical use, how they’d only really been able to make one and that, even with the massive energy output, the components were too costly to make it efficient. The properties that he was describing sounded familiar, and Tony began nodding faster and faster as Howard spoke, ideas rushing through his head, some discarded as ridiculous, some put aside as impractical, and a very few considered seriously.

“You mentioned nuclear power,” Tony said, interrupting Howard’s lecture. “Do you have any materials here?”

“Not officially,” Howard said. “Unofficially, yeah, more than a few of the Stark Industry missiles we have here have nuclear components.”

Tony’s mind settled on one idea, one that would only work if his understanding of the Midgardian way of harnessing nuclear energy was accurate, and one that could potentially destroy him, this base, and a significant portion of this Realm.

Fun.

The other option, finding out if a Jötunn could withstand a nuclear strike, was much less appealing. It required less finesse, less creativity, less wit. It was more Thor’s style; hitting hard and caring little for the resulting damage. On Asgard, that would have been a fine plan, but Midgard was much like its people – delicate and fragile.

Tony shook his head, not wanting to delve into the fact that he’d been described the same way throughout his long life. That was something to explore at another time.

Howard seemed to be following some of Tony’s thoughts, if not all. “Access to those weapons is strictly controlled. If I get you in, you’re going to owe me a huge favour.”

The life of Thor and his Midgardian friends, as well as the fate of at least this Realm, which was possibly Tony’s, hung in the balance. Tony couldn’t think of a price he’d be unwilling to pay. “Agreed.”

Howard cackled, shaking his head. “So young… c’mon, this way. The bots’ll finish your suit in the next few minutes. We’re going to need whatever you think can power it by then.”

Tony followed him, through the chaos of a military organization gearing up for something it had no idea how to fight, towards areas with higher after higher security, with fewer and fewer people, until they were alone again, surrounded by sleek, powerful weapons, designed to do nothing more than kill and destroy.

It was beautiful.

Tony smiled, not caring that it looked more like a smirk. “Let’s get started.”

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

Loki was weakening.

He knew it. He knew he was overpowered as long as Skrymir had the Casket. He knew that if they kept at this pace, he would lose, and most likely, he would die.

He didn’t care.

He had trusted Skrymir, as more than a friend, as more than an advisor. It was only now, upon seeing Skrymir’s betrayal, hearing his excuses and the vile thoughts he’d kept hidden, that Loki realized he’d looked up to him as a surrogate father, even more than he’d looked up to Laufey. Laufey had been his king. Skrymir had been his role model.

And what did it say, that Loki’s role model betrayed him, despised him, hated him? What did that say about Loki, about his worth?

“Just because you’re king of a Realm, that doesn’t make it yours,” Skrymir growled, unleashing another wave of power at Loki, one that Loki could only partially deflect, forcing him to absorb and ground some of that power. “You would remake the Jötnar into a race of feeble runtish cowards, suckling at the teat of Asgard. Your father would have wept tears of blood, seeing what you’d done.”

An attempt at mental warfare that missed its target easily. Loki had never cared what his biological father thought. He’d never looked for Laufey’s approval, not like he’d looked for Skrymir’s.

And now Skrymir had made it clear that Loki had never had that approval. His daydreams of being Loki Skrymirson were worthless and meaningless, and all Skrymir wanted now was Loki’s death.

Which freed Loki from any obligations, any restrictions, any limitations. He had nothing to live up to, nothing to aspire towards, and that made him freer than the wildest beasts.

Despite the tears clinging to his cheeks.

Something in the back of his mind reminded him urgently that Tony and Thor were still on this planet, helpless and mortal, and that their friendship was worth something still. Loki ignored it. He was Loki, King of Jötunheim, and nothing else. Midgard was nothing, not even a consideration, and if it was destroyed in the battle against Skrymir, what of it? Loki wasn’t tethered to anyone’s expectations any longer. He was a king, and he would do and take what he wanted.

And he would start with the Casket of Ancient Winters. If Skrymir hadn’t once been its wielder, after Laufey’s death and before Loki’s ascension, it would never have answered him with its rightful king in front of it. Even now, it was reluctant, its not-quite sentience just enough for it to sense something wasn’t right.

Still, when Skrymir called upon it, it answered. “I must admit, Loki.” Loki dodged the shards of ice the Casket threw at him at Skrymir’s order. “I missed wielding the Casket. The power, the control, the _rightness_. It was never meant to be yours. You were meant to _fail_.”

And that shot hit. Somehow, Loki had always known that. He’d been born to rule, the crown prince of his people, the only child of the king and queen, and yet he’d never been meant for the throne, for the Casket, for Jötunheim. He’d been meant, from the moment he was born a runt, to fail.

Skrymir, as if sensing Loki’s hesitance, his weakness, sent another icy blast at him, brining Loki to his knees.

No one had ever wanted Loki to succeed. The Allfather had treated him like a child at first, still did on occasion, as did many of the diplomats and royalty of the other Nine Realms. Thor and Tony had been friendly, but only because Loki had been lenient, treating them like friends and fellow princes, even when he’d been crowned. The Jötnar followed him for tradition’s sake, Thrym because Loki had always been his responsibility, Angrboda out of good-natured sweetness. But no one chose to follow Loki because he was Loki.

Another blast, this one almost forcing another form change on Loki. Between the energy drain and the heat of the desert, taking on his Jötunn form would be devastating. Loki shivered and fought against it, gritting his teeth with determination. He hadn’t survived the caves of Svartalfheim to die here, at the hands of a _traitor_.

Because Loki had never been chosen for himself. Not by his father, or his friends, or his closest advisors. Save for one solitary time.

When Jötunheim chose him. When the Casket chose him.

“I’d never thought to enjoy seeing the Casket of Ancient Winters used this way,” Skrymir said, stepping closer. “But I must say that watching my enemy struggle from under the force of Jötunheim itself is most… _invigorating_.”

Bastard. “That’s…” Loki struggled to stand against the onrushing chill, his bones aching with the cold, his skin burning. “ _Mine_.”

As his Asgardian form melted away, the blue of his Jötunn form taking over, Loki reached out and up, closing his eyes as the rightness of it rushed through him, even as the runes on his chest dug into the very fibre of his being. “Give. Me. My. _Casket_.”

Skrymir laughed and the chill switched once again to blades, tearing through the Asgardian armour Loki was still wearing, then tearing through the skin beneath. Loki ignored the pain, the blood, the attack. “Come back.”

The onslaught faltered as the power from the Casket shuttered. Loki didn’t bother opening his eyes, not needing to look to know that the Casket’s glow dimmed as the wrongness overcame its obedience. “Come back to me.”

“What are you… it’s not a _pet_ ,” Skrymir snarled, shaking the Casket, as if something was jammed and that’s why it wasn’t working. “It’s an artefact, and it answers to its wielder.”

“I am its proper wielder,” Loki said, and he stopped reaching and pleading, standing still before the Casket in ruined Asgardian armour, with Elvish and Vanir and Jötunn markings carved into his chest, not much taller than six feet tall, lean rather than muscled, and nothing more and nothing less than Loki. “And I am taking it back.”

The Casket, still in Skrymir’s hands, hummed happily and sent a cool, comforting glow Loki’s way. Loki laughed at the gentle embrace; partly in relief, partly because he’d forgotten how loving the Casket could be.

Skrymir howled in frustration, and Loki finally opened his eyes, bright green irises in a bright blue face, nothing more and nothing less than Loki. “You’ve lost, Skrymir. You need to stop.”

“Never,” Skrymir avowed. “I won’t give Jötunheim up to you again, and I won’t give the Casket to _anyone_. It should have always been _mine_. And if I can’t have it…” His powerful hands shifted their grip, no longer holding the Casket, but reaching in to the heart itself.

The gentle glow subsided and as the heat began to beat on Loki’s skin, his heart began racing in his chest. No Jötun had ever touched the heart itself since Ymir-king had placed it inside the Casket, allowing it to be controlled. To touch it directly was rumoured to destroy or, even worse, irrevocably change whoever touched it.

But those were only rumours. No one knew for sure, and some thought that the heart could be destroyed, if the protections and limitations of the Casket were removed. 

“Don’t–” Loki’s angry order was cut off as he felt something sick and vile course through him. Skrymir laughed horribly, and then spat out something black and putrid.

“You’ll die along with it, _Loki-king_ ,” Skrymir rasped out harshly and Loki felt the pangs of whatever he was doing to the heart shoot through him once again. 

He collapsed onto the desert sand, insensitive to the heat now that something much worse was pulling at him. He tried to gasp out another order, another plea, anything to stop Skrymir’s madness, but his silver tongue couldn’t even form words.

And then two bright blurs raced past either side of him and slammed into Skrymir, and pain such as he’d never felt coursed through Loki until blessed unconsciousness took him.


	12. Victory!

_Palladium._

Senseless, racist, violent animals they may be, but Tony had to admit that the humans were _brilliant_.

“You’re going to need at least 1.5… no, 1.6 grams,” Howard said, correcting himself before Tony could correct him. “We’ve got it, but now you’re going to have to find some way to control it, harness it.”

The Arc Reactor. Tony smirked; he was brilliant too.

“Let me take care of that,” Tony assured him. “The suit should be assembled in just a few more minutes. As long as your materials are as advertised, it will be functional. All I need now…” He smiled. “Is a miniature Arc Reactor.”

Howard stared. “You can’t just do that.”

“Watch me.”

Somewhere, two Frost Giants were fighting for some reason Tony couldn’t figure out, Thor was powerless, Odin was asleep, and Frigga had been left alone to deal with all that. But here and now, Tony had a problem that was difficult, but not impossible, to solve, and one that required the best of his mind and creativity.

And he couldn’t help but love that.

Howard was sputtering something about Stark Industries using only the highest grade metals and alloys, but Tony tuned him out. He muttered agreements as Howard gathered the necessary palladium, carefully removing it in its metallic form from the missiles it powered, but his attention was fixed on his own work.

The thing that magic users forgot, or conveniently ignored, was that there was a finite amount of ways to do anything. Nuclear power was one thing, but harnessing it could only be done by transforming it somehow, keeping the power controlled in some kind of capacitor or battery. Mages often used their own bodies or carefully formed artefacts to control the energies they wielded, at the cost of pain or harm if stored incorrectly.

Tony wasn’t that hearty. He’d learnt from a young age that he didn’t have the stamina and strength to be the conduit for his own creations. He needed an intermediary, something that could harness and filter the energies he needed. He’d transformed magical items into such intermediaries, but only such items that conducted the energy in the way he needed it.

The humans had a similar way to use energy. They called it ‘electromagnetism’, and it was the force that pushed their civilization from mud huts and hunting parties to cities and board rooms.

And they had a dazzling array of electromagnets to choose from. More specifically, _Stark Industries_ had a dazzling array to choose from.

Tony chose one that fit in the palm of his hand. He stripped it, keeping the copper-plated gold wiring attached and hoped that his calculations were correct.

Howard seemed to follow his line of thought. “Melting the palladium down isn’t going to be an issue, but it’s very unstable in its liquid form.”

“I have very steady hands,” Tony assured him. “How do you think I’m still alive?”

The ring of palladium needed to be the same circumference as the electromagnet, wired in to create the magnetic field that would contain the electrical power Tony required. The work was fine and delicate, and all Tony could think of was that the suit was likely already finished, and that Thor was vulnerable while Tony took his time.

Howard, on the other hand, seemed more focused on “you can’t do _that_.” and “how does that even work?”, followed by “of course! Now all it needs is a power boost to initialize…” and “this will only give you an hour of power, at most.”

“I know,” Tony said. “That should be more than enough.” It had already been the better part of an hour since Loki had landed, distracting Skrymir from Thor and himself, but how long could their battle last?

On Asgard, fights could last for days, weeks, even on one memorable occasion, three years without pause, if the fighters were well-matched. Loki was more powerful than Skrymir – the greatest sorcerer Jötunheim had seen in a generation. But Skrymir had the Casket of Ancient Winters, and was war-tested. They seemed closely matched, and Tony expected that their battle would normally rage for days, at the least.

But they shouldn’t have been battling in the first place. Skrymir was oath-bound to Loki, and Loki had never been one for senseless fighting. And Skrymir hadn’t been on Midgard for any reason relating to Loki, which was when he’d first moved to attack Odin’s sons, while Loki hadn’t even seemed to notice Thor or Tony.

Something was very wrong. The location, the purpose, the very existence of this battle between Loki and Skrymir wasn’t anything Tony could figure out. There seemed to be no reasonable explanation for it, and no obvious resolution other than the defeat of one of them. Tony, personally, was rooting for the Frost Giant who _hadn’t_ threatened him and his brother with an artefact of almost unimaginable power. He didn’t want Skrymir dead, exactly, but he certainly wanted him out of the fight, and the only thing he’d mourn about Skrymir’s death would be the lack of explanation.

And he’d have Loki for that. Loki was great at answering questions, once you filtered out the exaggerations and the insinuations, and filled in the strategic omissions. He’d always answer, directly and, for the most part, honestly. Just not completely or always the exact relevant information one wanted.

Tony grinned. Getting the story out of Loki would be just as much fun as making the suit and power source (miniature Stark Arc Reactor, might as well give the original its due) had been. He was always good for banter, and could _flyte_ with the best of them, once plied with adequate mead.

Tony would get his answers, and until then, he would marvel Midgard with his ingenuity. He placed the ring of palladium into the electromagnet and completed the circuit, running his fingers over the work before marching back to the lab, where the suit was waiting for him, complete and yet heartless and dead.

He placed the Arc Reactor in the center chest piece of his mechanized suit of armour, and typed in the final commands to connect the two, his smile widening as the new miniature reactor glowed blue and the suite came alive.

“Someone looks happy,” Howard said, looking up at the suit, then back at Tony. “I gotta say, I’m impressed.”

Tony hated to admit it, but he preened a little. He was used to the less-than-friendly competition from the dwarves and the more-friendly mockery from the warriors of Asgard. He wasn’t used to praise, even grudging praise. No one in his family understood what he did, and those few who did understand saw him as a rival. He didn’t have anyone comfortable enough in their position and knowledgeable about his work to be simply… impressed.

“Now you just have to prove you’ve got what it takes to use it.”

Tony, despite being a scientist by inclination and an engineer by trade, was an Asgardian prince and warrior by training. As good as he was at building and devising, he was every bit as skilled at using what devices he built for combat.

“At the risk of sounding repetitive,” Tony said, as the suit opened to allow him to step into it. “Just watch me.”

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

The battle between Loki and Skrymir raged, and Thor was helpless to interfere. Magic had never been his arena in any case and, even with his powers intact, he might have sat out the battle until he could find a place to fit his more forceful methods into the fight. But without his strength, he power, his hammer, Thor could do nothing but watch.

At least he’d sent Jane and the others away. They were less than useless here, as Thor was. They would be at best a distraction, a target Skrymir could use against Loki. At least Thor knew what he was getting into. The Americans… _Midgardians_ were completely ignorant of Jötunheim’s rich traditions and political landscape.

Thor was only _mostly_ ignorant of them. It made a difference.

Loki fought as if his heart was broken, alternating between vicious, violent attacks, and half-hearted defence. Skrymir was colder, crueller, and took no unnecessary risks, while still underestimating Loki’s strength. Loki fought in his Asgardian form, and it hurt Thor’s heart to see him in such a false disguise, fighting against one he’d called ‘friend’.

Thor wasn’t sure why Loki had chosen this fake form, seeing how it was an added disadvantage for him, apart from the heat of the desert under full sun, but it didn’t seem natural or right. Then again, nothing about the fight seemed _right_. Skrymir had been Loki’s right hand, the way Tony was Thor’s. The way Odin would be once Thor… _if_ Thor took the throne. There should have been no reason for them to be battling like this, full out, with the intention to harm or kill, rather than playfully, with the intention to drink afterwards and spin tales.

And yet, there they were, doubtlessly seeking each other’s death. Skrymir’s ambitions even seemed to encompass Thor and Tony’s deaths as well, which was at least somewhat more understandable, if the political atmosphere had changed since Thor’s banishment. Loki, on the other hand, seemed completely uninterested in them, protecting them only by confronting Skrymir before anyone had died, and otherwise ignoring everything but his opponent.

It was wrong, what was happening, but it was also somehow impressive. The might of the Frost Giants had always made them entertaining friends and allies, even when their barren planet made them otherwise valueless. The tournaments held on Jötunheim were the most glorious, and the Jötunn warriors always did well in other tournaments. They were a people build and bred for war, even more than the people of Asgard, and when they fought, it was always a spectacle.

Both Loki and Skrymir embodied that spirit, although their chosen techniques were as far from the brutish violence that was the traditional Jötunn way as could be. Skrymir never used his own strength, wielding the Casket alone against Loki, adding the bitterness of that betrayal to every attack. Loki, as always, fought back with his magic, but it seemed twisted and odd from his usual power, hotter than the normal ice and cold, more in keeping with his Asgardian guise than his Jötunn self.

And there were tears on his cheeks, overflowing from his green eyes, also something he would never have done in his Jötunn form.

Loki wasn’t fighting Skrymir alone. He was also fighting the Casket, the relic and soul of his people, and his own despair.

And he was losing.

Thor cried out as Loki fell to his knees, his pale skin turning white against the magic of the Casket. Skrymir was toying with him, torturing him with the one element that Loki should have been most comfortable with, most at home in. And yet, Loki never succumbed to the cold, keeping his form even as his body shivered uncontrollably against the Casket’s chill, the white skin blackening as it died, never turning to blue.

Thor’s hand opened and closed, clenching around nothing but air. If he hadn’t been cursed into this mortal form, he would have already intervened, pitting Mjölnir against the Casket of Ancient Winters, a righteous and noble battle, one that would have done himself, his hammer, and the Casket honour. But he _was_ mortal, and Mjölnir was unequivocally beyond his grasp. He had done what he could; protected the Midgardians, sent them off, and remained behind to inform them should Loki fall and Skrymir rise victorious. And yet still, he remained unworthy, powerless, nothing.

“What do you want from me?” Thor demanded, speaking to his father, the fates, some unknowable power. “What more can I do?”

As if in response, Loki rose, his chill-blained skin crackling under the Casket’s onslaught, only to peel away and reveal the blue markings of his true form. Thor’s own angst forgotten for a moment, he let out a cheer as Loki reached towards the Casket, basking in the cool power rather than fighting against it. _This_ was the Loki Thor had known – flexible, sly, always ready to turn an enemy’s strength into his own, and his own weaknesses into his enemy’s.

Skrymir sent blades of ice at him, ruining the Asgardian armour he’d been wearing, but Loki seemed to barely notice, welcoming the blades as he’d welcomed the cold. Thor felt his breath catch; this was true bravery, giving into the power that lashed out against you, letting yourself be hurt and wounded in order to be accepted once again. This was the gamble that won wars or lost kingdoms, risking everything on one hope, one thing that _had_ to be true, or why fight at all? Loki was betting his very life that the Casket of Ancient Winters, the heart and soul of Jötunheim, wouldn’t kill its king.

And he won.

Loki’s laughter rang out over the battlefield, delighted and overjoyed. Thor felt an odd pang of envy as he watched Loki return to his true self in every way – form, spirit, strength – a melancholy, bittersweet happiness for his friend, and grief for himself. He had no idea how to demonstrate the same kind of courage Loki had shown, the same strength and determination, the same spirit. He had no idea how to regain his own self.

And the Skrymir howled with rage, and ripped into the Casket, past the protective barrier and into its heart.

Thor was a child of Asgard, but he was also a child of the Nine Realms. He was as tied to the branches of Yggdrasil as anything else, and more sensitive to the changes along the world tree than most. And so, when Skrymir touched what lay inside the Casket, Thor felt it; nothing more than an echo of the vile poison that brought Loki once more to his knees, and a blackened, bloody grin to Skrymir’s face, but something of it nonetheless.

And it enraged him.

Midgard was a soulless Realm, despite the kindness of the people on it, it lacked something the other Realms had. Jötunheim had its soul, treasured it, protected it, and now one of its own was killing it.

This wasn’t like the Tesseract, which beat and pulsed on Asgard, longing for its Realm, but whole and intact. This was something different, not the removal of a Realm’s heart, but its destruction. Thor wasn’t of Jötunheim, he was of Asgard, but he could _not_ allow this! With a roar, and without another thought, Thor launched himself at Skrymir, throwing his entire weight at his legs and forcing him down just as another flash of silver snatched the Casket from Skrymir's arms.

Thor frowned at the familiar sight of a flying suit of armour. “Tony?” Only to hear a bellow of pained rage and catch a large blue hand moving towards him out of the corner of his eye and send him flying, skidding as he landed in the sand.

Normally, this would have barely winded him, and he would have been up and fighting within seconds.

Normally, he was Asgardian, Mjölnir’s wielder, powerful.

Nothing was normal.

He didn’t get back up.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

“– _ki_. Loki!”

Loki groaned and tried to sit up before thinking better of it. “I can’t today, Ivaldi. Please, give King Malekith my regrets.”

“Shit, shit, I don’t have _time for this_.” Loki’s side burst into pain as something more unforgiving than a mere boot slammed into his side. “Thor is down and Skrymir is _pissed_ , and I think Thor might be dead…”

Thor? Dead? Oh, it was one of _those_ nightmares, then. _Ragnarok_. Loki fought to wake up; no matter what was happening in the real world, it couldn’t be worse than his dreams of world’s end.

He cracked his eyes open and very nearly closed them again. Between the sun and the bright lights reflecting off Tony’s garish fashion choices, he felt blind. “Tony.” Oddly enough, Tony had never featured in any of Loki’s dreams of Ragnarok. “You look… shiny.”

“You look awful, but we’ll get to that later. Skrymir may have killed my brother, and he’s going to try to kill you too.” Tony shoved something at Loki. “Here.”

The moment Loki touched it, everything came pouring back; Skrymir’s betrayal, the battle, the Casket…

In his arms, the Casket glowed ominously, very angry in its way about how it had been treated. It was injured as well, as much as an artefact could be, but it was ready to fight.

Loki looked up and saw the rest of the scene; Thor lying unconscious and bloody off to the side, Skrymir, nursing what looked like a broken wrist (likely courtesy of Tony if he’d gotten the Casket back) and a slightly bruised shin (courtesy of… Thor?). The Casket and Loki were in agreement.

Skrymir had to die.

Loki and Skrymir’s eyes met and, injured or not, what Skrymir saw in Loki’s expression made him bolt. Loki gestured languidly with his left hand, his right cradling the Casket, and the sand under Skrymir’s feet melted into molten glass, solidifying around his ankles as Skrymir screamed in pain.

“Wait,” Tony said as Loki moved past him, towards Skrymir, to deliver the final blow. “Wait, Thor…”

“What about him?” Loki snapped, intent on revenge.

One of Tony’s mechanical hands clamped down around Loki’s wrist. “He’s hurt. He’s mortal and he’s hurt. You have to help him.”

“I don’t see why,” Loki said, his gaze never leaving Skrymir’s back, quite pleased at the pained hunched way Skrymir was standing, unable to even kneel as he couldn’t bend his ankles.

“He’s lying there injured or… or worse because he was trying to save _you_. You were close to death yourself when he attacked Skrymir.”

“I don’t recall asking him for help.” _Or anything_. Loki’s vengeance would not be stalled by a mere trifle of an Asgardian’s death. They died all the time. Sometimes, they didn’t even come back. It was the way of things.

Tony didn’t let go. “Loki. If there’s even an iota of reason left inside you…”

The Casket was whispering to Loki that it wanted blood. It wanted the blood of the one who had hurt it, the race-traitor, the _villain_ _who_ _dared_ …

Loki had spent centuries mastering magic and his own self. He had a cruel streak he had been forced to outgrow when he’d been given power over an entire people, and a control he’d cultivated as the elder rulers and diplomats from the other Nine Realms patronized him. His pain and anger burned cold, but without the unmeltable core of something colder than ice that the Casket’s rage contained.

He was hurt by Skrymir’s actions and words. Betrayed. Furious. But not everything he felt was his own. He took a deep breath and separated himself from the Casket, gently, carefully, doing everything he could to reassure it that he would return.

“I never asked Thor for his help, nor you for yours,” Loki said slowly. “I’ve never had to. And, until now, you’ve never had to demand mine.”

Tony released his wrist. “Loki…”

“You’ve done the impossible for me, Tony. You’ve overcome every obstacle to aid me. And Thor has done just as much, to protect the people of this Realm, of all the Realms, selflessly and without conceit or arrogance. It would be… ungrateful to do anything less for you.”

With the Casket back in his hands, it was but a moment’s work for Loki to magic up his royal regalia, wrap himself up in his power as King of Jötunheim, and tap into the power of Yggdrasil to repair the fate of Asgard’s sons.

Normally, overcoming the Allfather’s will would have been all but impossible, even for Loki, but Thor had proved himself, had earned this, and all that was needed was a small magical push in the right direction.

And Loki, with the Casket back in his hands, had all the power needed to push – to weave back the ties between Thor and Mjölnir, to remove the now-thin barriers between Thor and his powers, to bring everything back to the way it was.

Which still left Thor, essentially dead. That would take something rather more intimate.

Loki bent down and picked up one of many rocks, tracing a healing sigil on one side and a strengthening sigil on the other. He pressed it into Tony’s hand. “Take care of your brother, Tony.” The facemask made it impossible to read Tony’s expression, but Loki had the strange feeling that he wasn’t exactly happy. Loki sighed. “When we’re done here, come to me. I know what it feels like, being revered and dismissed, being part of the center of your people and yet an outsider. And, unlike Odin and the rest, I won’t lie to you.”

There was a reason Loki was considered the god of lies, was named ‘Liesmith’. But he kept his word, and intended to keep this promise to Tony. He’d known about Tony in a vague way, that he wasn’t Asgardian or Vanir or any race Loki was familiar with, for centuries. As an outsider to the Asgardian royal family, his eyes had never been blinded by expectations. He’d only figured out that Tony was Midgardian, however, when he flew in wearing his trademark metal suit, only fashioned on Midgard, from Midgardian materials. He fit here, as he’d never fit on Asgard.

And Loki was more than happy to have two allies from two separate Realms at his beck and call. But for that to happen, Tony had to save Thor. “Go now.”

Tony’s metal hand closed lightly over the runestone. “Thank you, Loki.”

Tony bent over Thor, pressing the rune to his brother’s chest. Loki felt the magic take, breathing life and health into Thor, reviving him and allowing him to awaken as the Asgardian prince he was, once again. Clouds gathered, turning the bright sky dark and ominous as thunder rumbled as if from a distance, coming closer and louder and darker… Tony stepped back, giving his brother the room he needed to gather his strength.

The ozone in the air tasted of Mjölnir, and Loki licked his lips. “Call it, Thor.” Thor’s body, now alive, lay flat on its back, passive. It wasn’t a good look. “Call it.”

Lightning shot through the air, lighting up the sky and striking right where Thor lay, silhouetting his arm as it shot up, palm open in expectation. Loki heard the song first, the whistle of Mjölnir flying towards its master and then, as it hit Thor’s hand, another bolt of lightning shot up from the ground into the sky, as if welcoming the oncoming storm.

The Mighty Thor was back.

That and Tony’s delighted shout was all the reward Loki needed. They were even now. He turned back to Skrymir, moving so that he could face his former advisor.

Skrymir had mastered his pain, and the cool rain brought by the storm soothed his skin as it soothed Loki’s. “I regret nothing.”

“You betrayed me,” Loki said softly, caressing the Casket. “You betrayed your King and your Realm. You planned to break longstanding alliances and forge bonds between Jötunheim and a usurperus tyrant.” The Casket flared with indignation and Loki paused to soothe it. “You tried to kill me, after I’d returned from being tortured by that very tyrant, in front of my own Casket.”

“And I regret none of that.”

“But that isn’t everything,” Loki said. “While you merely planned to invade Asgard, you did actually invade another Realm, doing everything possible to provoke a war. You targeted my allies and tried to commit regicide a second time. And you don’t regret that, I understand.” Loki shook his head. “But then you tried to destroy the heart of Jötunheim, simply because you couldn’t control it. You betrayed everyone you pretended to be fighting for, your people, your Realm, your self, even.”

“Better that then continuing to bow to a simpering runtling. Better annihilation than continued submission to the Asgardian dogs.”

Tony and Thor came up beside Loki, flanking him, and Loki felt… safe. He silently apologized to the Casket.

“You tried to take my life, my Realm, my people. You failed, but you tried.” Loki stepped back. “But you _did_ take Thor’s life, and the life of Tony’s brother.” Loki placed a hand on Tony’s armoured shoulder, a comfort, even without Tony being able to feel it. “What _weregild_ is owed, is owed to them.”

Thor turned to him. “Loki…”

“His life is yours, Odinsons,” Loki said. Tony’s facemask was up, letting Loki see the gratitude in Tony’s face, more for the understanding and the name than for the gift of Skrymir’s worthless life, no doubt. “Do with him as you please.”

“Thor?” Tony asked, as the facemask came down once again. “Would you like to do the honours?”

Skrymir raised his head, meeting his inevitable doom with as much pride as he could muster.

Thor hummed thoughtfully, the soft sound completely at odds with his usual bombasicity. “Wait. I think we should bring him to Asgard. If what Loki says is true, I believe there are things father would like to ask him when he wakes from the Odinsleep.”

Loki snorted. “If the death of his son isn’t enough to wake him, he needs more than a mere nap.” His stomach unclenched at Thor’s wise decision. Loki’s accusations would be given the hearing they deserved, but if Skrymir could be… convinced to talk, it would go a long way to corroborating Loki’s accusations. The Casket wasn’t pleased that no one was presently ripping Skrymir’s treacherous flesh apart, but Loki assured it that Asgard’s interrogation methods would be just as unpleasant as anything Loki could devise on the spot.

Tony, meanwhile, had stepped back as Thor took over, leaving the crown prince of one Realm and the king of another to discuss matters. Loki sighed at that, wanting Tony to be a part of this, particularly as a reasonable counterpoint to Thor’s stubbornness. He was good at that.

But Tony’s attention was directed elsewhere. “Um… guys? We’re about to have company.”

The strange black chariots that had been lined up when Loki had first arrived had returned, only instead of two of them, there were two dozen. Loki could sense around a hundred individuals within the chariots, just enough for a brisk battle. “Allies or enemies?”

Tony lifted his faceplate again. “Just… let me do the talking.”

“To a point,” Loki agreed, grudgingly, readying his magic as the black vehicles surrounded them and the doors opened, releasing the black-clad men and women inside. “They seem hostile.”

“They’re not, they’re–” Tony was cut off by an excited squeal of Thor’s name, and a young woman (clothed in dull colours, rather than black) launched herself from her companions and into Thor’s arms.

“Lady Jane!” Thor said, sounding warm and ridiculously pleased. “You have returned.”

“Thor, you… you normally look like this?”

Thor shrugged, uncharacteristically humble despite his princely regalia. “More or less.”

“It… it’s a _good_ look,” Jane said, her voice and expression openly appreciative.

Loki sighed. Only Tony and Thor could have come to Tony’s home Realm and leave with a woman for _Thor_.


	13. Epilogue

“Excuse me!”

Tony looked away from Thor and Jane’s reunion, towards Agent Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D., who was moving out from the sea of black-clad S.H.I.E.L.D. guards and the black S.H.I.E.L.D. SUVs, looking more like an accountant than a warrior.

Loki was going to love him.

“Tony, Thor,” Coulson stopped in front of the, breathing slightly heavily from his speed-walking and the way his head was cranked up to look at Thor. Not so much for Tony. “We need to debrief you.”

Loki cocked his head in that way he had of asking what the heck was going on without actually asking anything. Coulson turned to him. “And you as well, sir.”

“Who…”

“Son of Coul,” Thor boomed. “We all fight for the same cause; the protection of this and the other Eight Realms. You needn’t fear our might and power, for it is at your disposal, as we are your allies.”

“Do _not_ speak for me or Jötunheim,” Loki hissed, irate. Tony bit back a laugh, at both Thor’s thoughtless largesse, and Loki’s quick offense. Everything was back to normal.

“It’s _Coulson_.” The correction came, lazy and self-assured, from another quarter. “It’s Agent – which is a title – Phil – which is a given name – Coulson. Which, despite the pattern, is not a patrynomic, it’s just a family name.” Howard strolled over the hard sand to Coulson’s side, carrying nothing but a few slips of paper. “Just address everyone by the names you’re given, and that should limit confusion.” He muttered something about them meeting a fury, and Tony reminded himself that this Realm was different, and had changed with it people, more swiftly than any of the other Nine Realms could.

“Mr. Stark.” Coulson stepped back, respectful and strangely guarded all at once. “We haven’t secured the area yet.”

Howard waved vaguely towards Skrymir. “Looks secured to me. Besides, we don’t have time for this. The press is coming.”

His tone made Tony check his power reserves – 68%, just enough for another short battle. Thor brandished his hammer, and in Loki’s hand, the Casket glowed stronger. “How powerful is this press?”

Coulson frowned, just a little, and Howard snickered. “Pretty powerful, kids, but nothing ol’ Howie can’t handle. Actually,” he handed Tony a piece of paper, “I could use your help. Just keep that faceplate up and that chest light glowing.”

“It’s a miniature Arc Reactor,” Tony informed Loki. “You’d be impressed if you had any idea what I was talking about.”

“I often am,” Loki conceded, inclining his head.

Thor moved forward. “Might I–”

Loki placed a hand on his arm. “Let Tony take this, Thor. You have your maiden to comfort, and I have Skrymir to… deal with.” He’d bound Skrymir’s magic and voice before the convoy had arrived, but it was quick, shoddy work, and both he and Tony knew better than to trust it. “I could use your assistance.” He peered at Jane. “And… can you do anything?”

Anyone who knew Loki would know that was as close to an attempt at making peace that he could make. As much as Asgard looked down on Midgard, Jötunheim reviled it, keeping the millennia-old conflict fresh in song and story. But Loki was reaching out, tentatively and condescendingly, to Thor’s Midgardian, if only because she was Thor’s.

Also, Tony was beginning to suspect, because Loki knew what Tony was, and wanted to reassure him that Asgardian or Midgardian, Tony would always have Loki’s support. He appreciated it.

Jane, unfortunately, did not.

“Can I do anything about what? About a giant blue space monster? Let me think… nope. Not in my repertoire. I’m a _scientist_ , not a xenocidologist, and don’t shush me, Thor, I’ve had a really long few days, and all I really wanted was to know more about the bifröst thing!”

Loki looked at her. “The bifröst? Wouldn’t something portable like the Casket be more useful?” It was an old argument he’d had with Tony and Thor and really every single Asgardian who bragged about Asgard’s superiority.

Jane huffed. “Not unless it can open an Einstein-Rosen bridge between planets.”

“It can,” Loki said. “How do you think Skrymir got here?” Jane stared at him. “Of course, I arrived under my own power, but that is something far beyond your ken as you are…”

“Try me,” Jane breathed, her eyes wide and wondering. “Thor, can we keep him?” Thor laughed nervously.

They were distracted by the sounds of more vans pulling up, flashing lights and shouted questions coming from the people inside the vans before they even stopped moving. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents moved to intercept them, but Howard placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder and tugged him along, handing him one of the sheets of paper. “It’s easy, really. They’re like vultures, but all that means is you have to feed them something to distract them.”

Tony wasn’t sure what, exactly, Howard meant by that. They seemed like normal humans to him, perhaps a little louder, perhaps slightly more attractive and yet obnoxious, but relatively normal.

“Aliens from outer space? Government cover-ups? Small potatoes,” Howard said, dismissively, and Tony wondered if they’d been feeding these vulture-like humans potatoes. “We’ll deal with all that later. For now, we’re going to give them something bigger. Well, something shinier, in any case.”

Large shiny potatoes? Tony had to admit, just from the sound if it, he liked the idea.

“Mr. Stark, is your company involved in any of this?”

“Mr Stark, is this a secret government project?”

“Mr. Stark, is there any truth to the rumours of an illegitimate son?”

Howard waved to the reporters and the flashing lights grew almost blinding. “If I could answer that last question first…” He placed his hand in the small of Tony’s back. Or, rather, against the temperature modulator encased in the lumbar curve of Tony’s suit. “I can honestly say that, as of talking to my lawyers this morning, I do not have an _illegitimate_ son.”

There was a confused pause, and then dozens of further questions, shouted at them in increasing volume. Howard nodded towards the paper in Tony’s hand. “Read it.”

Tony cleared his throat and read. “The truth is, I am Iron Man.” Iron Man? The suit was made of various metals and alloys, none of which were _iron_. “My name is Tony Stark.”

The words were out before he understood what they meant (there were no patronyms, only surnames here…) and suddenly everyone’s attention was on him, rather than the giant blue aliens.

Tony smiled and waved. This was going to be _fun_.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

“Do we travel by bifröst?” Thor asked Loki, keeping Jane close to his side. Her warmth was comforting, and holding her now, with his senses reawakened wasn’t something Thor was willing to give up. “The longer you keep Skrymir here, the more I worry.”

“Is that sense I hear from you, Odinson?” Loki asked, a reasonably gentle gibe, despite the fact that his eyes were on Tony. “I happen to agree, but… no. As much as I revere and adore Heimdall–”

“You hate him,” Thor interrupted.

Loki shrugged. “Oh, right. Then, no, I’d rather use the Casket. Good point, Thor, very astute.”

Thor snorted. “One day the secret of your mutual animosity will come out, and it will seem petty and foolish.”

“No doubt,” Loki agreed easily, easy enough to make Thor sure he didn’t mean it. “But until then, I won’t use the bifröst if I have any choice. And, with you at my side, there is no excuse for not letting me into Asgard.”

Thor smiled. “Then we are prepared.”

“Can I come?” Jane asked, looking between Loki and Thor, small and hopeful and delicate and proof that Midgardians were better than the tales told of them.

Skrymir shifted, and Thor’s hopeful expression fell. “Would that I could say yes…”

“We’ll discuss it with the Allmother,” Loki said firmly. “Thor, you are a prince. There are protocols for these sorts of things.”

Cheered, Thor took Jane’s hand in his own and kissed her knucles. “I must leave you for now. But I will return.” He flushed, just a little. “For you.”

Jane stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him.

Thor felt like the luckiest man on Midga- on Earth.

Loki left a message with Coulson for Tony, that Tony had to but call out his name three times, and Loki would come for him. Thor sent a message through Coulson that Asgard would wait for Tony, until he was done playing, and a thank you for everything Tony had done.

Skrymir, his voice and movements sealed, sent no message apart from a burning hatred in his eyes.

And a flash of all-encompassing blue light, and they were on Asgard, in the throne room, surrounded by supplicants and nobles, with Frigga and Odin looming over them.

“Father!” Thor moved forward, before a thought occurred to him. “You’re awake.”

He could feel Loki rolling his eyes at him, even as he nodded his head in a respectful gesture, king to king. “Allfather. It gladdens my heart to see you well. I hope our arrival did not come as too much of a surprise?”

“The throne room was an interesting choice,” Odin admitted, “but then again, you are Loki.” His eye turned to Skrymir. “And you did come bearing gifts.” At some unspoken signal, the guards began clearing the nobles and others out. Loki waited until the last attendee was hustled out before answering.

“I apologize for the poor quality, but needs must,” he said, silky smooth. “This… individual took your son’s life, and so I have given that life to your son.”

“As I understand it, you gave him to my _sons_ ,” Odin corrected.

Loki inclined his head again. “That is one possible interpretation, Allfather. I would hate to be overly presumptuous.”

Odin didn’t look happy at that. “Of course.” He gestured to one of the guards. “Take him away, and leave Loki-king’s spells on him until I order otherwise.” With that done, Odin turned back to Thor.

“My son.” He sighed. “I was not expecting your journey of self-discovery to be so… daunting.”

Thor nodded. “Nor I, father. But I have learned much, that even the lowest of people have their worth, and that courtesy is not a sign of weakness, and that…” Thor carefully didn’t look at Loki. “Choices and decisions made by kings have father-reaching consequences than those of other folk.” He bit back his yelp of pain as Loki sent a sharp shock at his bottom, clearly peeved at being an object lesson. “I’ve learned that everything is worthy of my protection, in its own way, and I need to balance out the greatest good when making choices.”

Odin nodded. “All valuable lessons. And your brother?”

“Tony?” Thor asked, caught offguard. “What did he have to learn?”

Loki coughed. “Ah, perhaps that would be better discussed in private, Odin-king? I would so hate to intrude in what is sure to be a _lengthy_ discussion.”

Thor frowned, not liking this. “What do you know that I don’t, Loki?”

“Oh, many things, Odinson. Not as much as your father, naturally, as Odin’s wisdom is as acclaimed as your strength and Tony’s… cleverness.”

“Loki,” Odin interrupted. Loki turned an innocent expression towards him.

“Inventiveness?”

“ _Loki_.”

“Humanitarianism,” Loki said, definitively. Odin banged Gungnir on the floor, its echo leaving behind nothing but silence.

Thor didn’t like feeling left out. He turned to his mother, who smiled indulgently at all three men, Loki included. “It’s nice to see Asgard so lively again.”

Loki bowed, deep and sincere, in her direction. “Allmother. Your patience and forbearance are an example to us all. Jötunheim, and I personally, owe you yet another debt of gratitude.”

Frigga’s smile warmed as she turned it on Loki. Odin sighed in exasperation, and Thor decided to shake Loki until he got the whole story out of him.

“We’ll have a feast,” Odin decided suddenly. “Welcoming back the prince of Asgard, and her defender.”

“And Tony?” Thor asked, only now realizing that he really should have waited for his brother.

It was Loki’s hand on his arm, cool and comforting, that finally brought home to Thor that something had truly changed. “Tony needs to find his own place, Thor. I’ve already told him he can come to me, if he needs help finding it, and know that I’m happy to give you council as well.”

“They’re my sons,” Odin said softly.

“That’s only half true,” Loki replied. “And you’re old, Allfather. You’ve forgotten what it was like to be young and angsty and to burn bright with righteousness unearned, with certainty untested. These are things that only the young can understand.”

“They’re my sons,” Odin repeated, “and if I find that you’ve corrupted them, I will rain down such horrors upon you that your tale will be known across the Realms as a cautionary one.” He smiled. “But if you do not, then I thank you, Loki-king, for your generous offers of guidance.”

Loki squeezed Thor’s arm, reassuringly, unfazed by Odin’s threats. “Speak with your parents, Thor. And then, if you like, seek me out. I may not understand what they do, but at the very least, I have an outsider’s perspective and the knowledge you lack. My advice has at least that worth in it.”

Thor clasped Loki’s hand in gratitude and then let him leave. Odin turned away, but Thor wouldn’t let him go. “The truth, then. About Tony. Everyone knows but me, and I fear that in my ignorance I may do more harm than good.”

Frigga nodded and took Odin’s hand, guiding him to their son. “Of course, Thor. We’ll tell you more once Tony returns to us, but for now we’ll give you at least the basics.”

“When the humans fought the Jötnar,” Odin said gravely, not even getting into the proper rhythm for storytelling, “they came at them with everything they had – men, women, elders hobbled with age, children barely old or tall enough to handle blades. They left their fields, their flocks, their duties behind.”

Odin faltered, and Frigga’s hand squeezed his. Odin looked at Thor, as if hoping for something like absolution. “They were so intent on driving the Frost Giants off their world, that they left their babes to fend for themselves.”

Thor felt his stomach sinking as his father continued his tale, twisting in horror and grief as Tony’s truth was revealed, tempered only by the relief that Thor had met Jane and Darcy, Selvig and Coulson before learning of this truth. That Tony was human, was not his brother, was not Odin’s son was terrible, but it could have been so much worse if…

If Thor and Tony hadn’t been exiled.

Frigga had often told her sons that there was a purpose to everything Odin did.

For the first time, Thor saw it.

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

“Welcome back,” Angrboba greeted Loki on his return, far from the proper protocol for dealing with the King of Jötunheim, but Loki was still high from his victory over Skrymir, his verbal battles with Odin, cementing his alliance with Thor, that he did nothing but smile in return. “I see you’ve brought the Casket.”

“Safe and sound,” Loki replied, placing the Casket back on its pedestal. “And hopefully now it knows better than to allow itself to be used against its rightful King, hmm?”

The Casket glowed back sullenly, still miffed at the fact that Skrymir still lived.

Thrym, at Angrboda’s side, focused on that as well. “Skrymir is…”

“Back in Asgard,” Loki said. “He killed Thor, and even after all his transgressions against me and against Jötunheim, Asgard’s grievances took priority.”

“Thor is dead?” Thrym sounded caught between shock and amazement, seemingly unsure if he was more upset or amused by the news.

Loki shrugged. “He got better. The point is that Asgard now has Skrymir, and all the proof they’ll ever need that Malekith is plotting against them.”

Angrboda and Thrym exchanged a look and fell into step beside Loki. “Are we going to war, then?” Thrym asked delicately.

“Unlikely,” Loki answered. “Not for a long while, at least. Asgard has things it needs to put into order in its own right, and Malekith is still a king. Sovereignty must be maintained without a good reason.” He shrugged. “Jötunheim stands ready to join our allies once a strategy has been agreed upon. Personally, I favour wiping out the entire Realm, but I’m sure some more reasonable and balanced answer will be arrived at.”

“You seem… calmer,” Angrboda said.

Loki’s hand came up to his chest, tracing the runes hidden under his clothing. He would never again be able to go around bare-chested and unadorned without speculative eyes evaluating him for visible weaknesses. “I am. I simply remembered my place – here, in Jötunheim, with you and Thrym and the Casket.” He smiled. “You two are my oldest, most trusted friends, and I owe you both more than I can ever repay.”

Both Angrboda and Thrym looked pleased, so Loki continued, making sure there were no misunderstandings. “And if you betray me, or each other, I will keep you alive for centuries as I torture you until you can think of nothing but despair and regret over your betrayal. And then I will kill you. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly,” Thrym said, his lips twitching with the effort not to smile.

“We missed you,” Angrboda admitted, her fingers brushing against Loki’s.

Loki reached out and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I missed you both as well.” He reached out and took Thrym’s hand as well. “Now, let’s get everything back to normal, so that I can pretend none of this ever happened.”

“We set up a feast,” Angrboda said. “In your honour, of couse.”

“Of course,” Loki groaned.

“You can tell us the tale of how you defeated Skrymir,” Thrym offered.

Loki grinned. “The Saga of the Useless Thunderer and the Whiny Tinkerer.”

“Are we at war with Asgard?” Angrboda asked.

“No. Why?”

“Well, I’m just saying… maybe a more diplomatic title will keep it that way.”

Loki snorted. “Loki and the Odinsons’ Very Excellent Adventure to Midgard?”

“We’ll work on the title before the feast.”

OoO-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-OoO

“Usually, when I send Coulson with you, you don’t generate this much paperwork.”

Howard shrugged. “Then maybe it’s Coulson’s fault, not mine?”

“Nice try.” Howard winced as his guest put his boots up on the antique oak desk Howard had only recently acquired and not yet tired of. “I gotta say, though, you do keep things interesting.”

“Since 1937,” Howard agreed. “That’s my motto. Now, if you could keep your feet on the floor, Nick…”

The thud of two very heavy steel-toed boots would have made many a hardier man flinch. Howard just smiled, pleased at the easy obedience to a simple request. Nick Fury, current director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and one of the best agents Howard had ever worked with, was in a good mood, grumblings about paperwork aside.

“First contact, and you decide to adopt him.”

Howard’s smile blossomed into a full blown smirk. “DNA evidence, Nick. Even the board couldn’t deny his claim. And he seems to find this all amusing, which is a far sight better from how sick he looked when he first found out.”

“He’s starting to make noises about going back.”

Howard didn’t ask how Fury knew that. As much as he’d tried to keep Tony occupied with Stark Industries, with developing new energy technology and working with people like Pepper and Obie who had no ties to S.H.I.E.L.D., there was no way that Nick Fury wouldn’t find a way to keep himself informed of the domesticated alien on Howard’s payroll. Probably Natasha, who Tony still knew as Natalia, and whose occasional efficient bursts of violence didn’t strike Tony as peculiar at all from a personal aide. Howard couldn’t take her off his staff without looking suspicious to S.H.I.E.L.D., and Natasha, despite not being Tony’s PA, managed to spend just enough time with him to be an effective spy.

“Don’t give me that look,” Fury said. “You might consider him an asset, but as far as I’m concerned he’s still on a potential threat watch list. Along with his blue and blond friends.”

Howard nodded “He’s making noises about going back. Loki’s been by to visit a few times, and each time Tony gets disturbingly… pensive. He’s happy enough with his position here, as heir to Stark Industries, but he left behind a family who raised him for what we estimate is approximately a millennium. That kind of bond doesn’t go away in a few months.”

“God bonding,” Fury said. Howard grinned, but shook his head.

“Not a god. Thor’s a god, and Loki’s a god, but Tony isn’t. Never cared to be. You’ve read the reports, haven’t you?” The last was mostly a dig, as Fury complained on a near-weekly basis about Howard or Coulson’s reports reading like a high school student’s mythology homework. “Being Asgardian has nothing to do with being a god. It’s something of a hobby for the rich and bored. Thor liked the challenge, Tony thought it was silly. Loki was, apparently, dared into it. Tony’s very clear on the fact that he’s very much _not_ a god, and Darcy is just as quick to back him up with some example of just how un-godly he is.”

Seeing the chance to change the subject from incomprehensible Asgardian practices to something more tangible, Fury took it. “Speaking of, how’s Dr. Foster’s work coming along?”

“Tony and Loki are refusing to do anything but answer direct questions, guiding her without pushing her. It makes her frustrated and flattered in equal measure,” Howard said, grinning at the memory of the fiery girl pinning Loki against one of the walls, demanding to know what was missing while Loki lecture her on manners. “She’s making good progress, but Tony’s impatient to return home and can’t wait for her.” He shrugged. “She’d probably be done at least a prototype by now, if Thor hadn’t been down more than a few times to take her away on a few ‘vacations’ to Asgard.”

“So we’re letting an alien creature who’s worked closely with both S.H.I.E.L.D. and one of the leading weapons developers in the world, just up and leave to go back to his homeworld.”

“I don’t see how we can stop him,” Howard said. “You’ve seen the specs on the Casket of Ancient Winters, the estimates for the bifröst, and the way Tony’s creativity seems primed towards creating weapons. Nothing about us – not our nuclear programs, our drones, the internet… Nothing terrestrial will impress or improve Asgard or Jötunheim. After all, they already knew about it, vaguely, through their all-seeing Heimdall.” Loki had had more than a few words to say about Asgard’s guardian. “They could destroy us in a heartbeat, Nick, through warfare or simple extermination.”

Fury snorted. “Get to the part that’s supposed to make me feel _better_ about your wonderboy slipping his leash.”

“They haven’t. And, from what Tony and Loki have told me about their history with us, they both have reason to.” Especially Jötunheim, but Loki wasn’t one to destroy a potential ally, as long as they had the potential to be useful, and Howard got the impression from him that something important was brewing behind the scenes. Something that made Tony uneasy. “We finally have Steve back, which is every bit as amazing as finding Tony, Bruce is beginning to feel comfortable in his own skin after Loki walked away from ‘sparing’ with the Hulk,” hobbled, more like, but that was close enough, “Natasha and Clint have both made good impressions on Tony, and Thor is clearly invested in us as a people.”

“You’re saying they won’t kill us as long as we’re interesting and potentially useful.”

Howard grinned. “Exactly. And, seeing as I have use for them as well, I gotta say, Nick, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Getting that ‘tesseract’ thing back would be a nice, friendly gesture,” Fury said. “Especially since it was supposedly ours in the first place. Got any information on that?”

That was something Howard had wanted to look into on his own, but being directly asked about it changed things. “We’ve had it back, apparently, since WWII.”

“…what?”

“Steve corroborates it. Apparently the Red Skull unearthed it after Asgard lost track of it sometime in the late twenties. Steve said it went down with him. It should, from what we’ve been told, be somewhere in the Arctic circle, under the ocean.”

Fury glared. “Unless H.Y.D.R.A. has it.”

Howard shrugged. “We’re looking for it. Bruce and Tony are working together to try to track the gamma radiation, using Loki’s Casket as a template. Between the three of them, they’ll work something out. And if H.Y.D.R.A. has it, we’ll find it _and_ their base. Win win.”

“Alliances with aliens.” Fury sighed. “You couldn’t have waited until Maria was in charge?”

“Sorry, Nick. This one’s all ours. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Yeah, well… keep that under your hat, Howard.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it!
> 
> There was a question about a sequel, but I don't have anything specifically planned. There are a lot of loose ends, like the dark elves and Tony's future on Midgard and Thor and Tony's relationship with their family and each other now that the truth is out, but I feel like that's more or less where Iron Man 1 and Thor 1 ended, which was what I was trying to parallel.
> 
> So nothing planned, but no promises. Thanks for reading and especially for anyone who left kudos or comments. XD You guys are why people keep writing. <3


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